I 


■r.r.vr.f./  ( .' 


Wenderholme. 


A   STOR  Y  OF  LANCASHIRE  AND    YORKSHIRE, 


BY 

PHILIP   GILBERT    HAMERTON, 

AUTHOR   OF    "the   INTELLECTUAL    LIFE,"    ETC. 


"  It  takes  a  deal  o'  sorts  to  make  a  world." 

Popular  Proverb. 


i    J    3  J     i   y   t 

J        1       > 


J I  J- 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1890, 


Author's  Edition. 


'i.iV 


fc    I     t  C  I    I    i 


University  Press: 
John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


I  r 


TO   AN   OLD    LADY    IN   YORKSHIRE. 


You  remember  a  time  when  the  country  in  which  this  story  is  placed 
was  quite  different  from  what  it  is  to-day  ;  when  the  old  proprietors 
lived  in  their  halls  undisturbed  by  modern  innovation,  and  neither 
enriched  by  building  leases,  nor  humiliated  by  the  rivalry  of  mighty 
manufacturers.  You  have  seen  wonderful  changes  come  to  pass,  — the 
valleys  filled  with  towns,  and  the  towns  connected  by  railways,  and  the 
fields  covered  with  suburban  villas.  You  have  seen  people  become 
richer  and  more  refined,  though  perhaps  less  merry,  than  they  used  to 
be  ;  till  the  simple,  unpretending  life  of  the  poorer  gentlefolks  of  the  past 
has  become  an  almost  incredible  tradition,  which  few  have  preserved 
in  their  memory. 

When  this  story  was  first  written,  some  passages  of  it  were  read  to 
^  you,  and  they  reminded  you  of  those  strong  contrasts  in  the  life  of  the 
V  North  of  England  which  are  now  so  rapidly  disappearing.  Wender- 
'^  HOLME  is  therefore  associated  with  you  in  my  mind  as  one  of  its  first 
ly,     hearers,  and  I  dedicate  it  to  you  affectionately. 


427805 


PREFACE 

TO    THE    AMERICAN    EDITION. 


IT  happened,  some  time  before  this  story  was  originally 
composed,  that  the  author  had  a  conversation,  about 
the  sale  of  novels,  with  one  of  the  most  eminent  publish- 
ers of  iiction  in  London.*  The  result  of  his  experience 
was,  that  in  the  peculiar  conditions  of  the  English  market 
short  novels  did  not  pay,  whilst  long  ones,  of  the  same 
quality,  were  a  much  safer  investment.  Having  incurred 
several  successive  losses  on  short  novels,  my  friend,  the 
publisher,  had  made  up  his  mind  never  to  have  any  thing 
more  to  do  with  them,  and  strongly  recommended  me, 
if  I  attempted  a  work  of  fiction,  to  go  boldly  into  three 
volumes  at  once,  and  not  discourage  myself  by  making  an 
experiment  on  a  smaller  scale,  which  would  only  make 
failure  a  certainty.  The  reader  may  easily  imagine  the 
effect  of  such  a  conversation  as  this  upon  an  author  who, 
whatever  may  have  been  his  experience  in  other  depart- 
ments of  literature,  had  none  at  all  in  the  publication  cf 
novels.  The  practical  consequence  of  it  was,  that,  when 
the  present  story  was  written,  commercial  reasons  pre- 
vailed, as  they  unhappily  so  often  do  prevail,  over  artistic 

•  This  publisher  was  not  a  member  of  the  firm  of  Messrs.  W.  Black- 
wood &  Sons,  who  afterwards  purchased  the  copyritjht  of  Wcudfrholme, 
nor  was  the  story  ever  offered  to  him  ;  but  his  opinion  h.id  grc.it  influ- 
ence with  the  author  on  account  of  his  large  experience. 


viii  Preface  to  the  American  Edition. 

reasons,  and  the  book  was  made  far  longer  than,  as  a 
work  of  art,  it  ought  to  have  been. 

The  present  edition,  though  greatly  abridged,  is  not 
by  any  means,  from  the  author's  point  of  view,  a  muti- 
lated edition.  On  the  contrary,  it  rather  resembles  a 
building  of  moderate  dimensions,  from  which  excres- 
cences have  been  removed.  The  architect  has  been 
careful  to  preserve  every  thing  essential,  and  equally 
careful  to  take  away  every  thing  which  had  been  added 
merely  for  the  sake  of  size.  The  work  is  therefore  at 
the  present  time  much  nearer  in  character  to  the  origi- 
nal conception  of  the  designer  than  it  has  ever  been 
before. 

Notwithstanding  the  defect  of  too  great  length,  and 
the  difficulty  which  authors  often  experience  in  obtain- 
ing recognition  in  a  new  field,  Wenderholme  was  very 
extensively  reviewed  in  England,  and,  on  the  whole, 
very  favorably.  Unfortunately,  however,  for  the  author's 
chances  of  profiting  by  the  suggestions  of  his  critics,  it 
so  happened  that  when  any  character  or  incident  was 
selected  for  condemnation  by  one  writer,  that  identical 
character  or  incident  was  sure  to  be  praised  enthusias- 
tically by  another,  who  spoke  with  equal  authority  and 
decision,  in  some  journal  of  equal  importance.  The  same 
contradictions  occurred  in  criticisms  by  private  friends, 
people  of  great  experience  and  culture.  Some  praised 
the  first  volume,  but  did  not  like  the  third  ;  whilst  oth- 
ers, who  certainly  knew  quite  as  much  about  such  mat- 
ters, considered  that  the  book  began  badly,  but  improved 
immensely  as  it  went  on,  and  finished  in  quite  an  admir- 
able manner,  like  a  horse  that  has  warmed  to  his  work. 
These  differences  of  opinion  led  me  to  the  rather  dis- 
couraging conclusion  that  there  is  nothing  like  an  ac- 


Preface  to  the  American  Edition.  ix 

cepted  standard  of  right  and  wrong  in  the  criticism  of 
fiction  ;  that  the  critic  praises  what  interests  or  amuses 
him,  and  condemns  what  he  finds  tiresome,  with  little 
reference  to  any  governing  laws  of  art.  I  may  observe, 
however,  that  the  book  had  an  artistic  intention,  which 
was  the  contrast  between  two  classes  of  society  in  Lan- 
cashire, and  that  the  militia  was  used  as  a  means  of 
bringing  these  two  classes  together.  I  may  here  reply 
to  one  or  two  objections  which  have  been  made  as  to  the 
manner  in  which  this  plan  was  carried  out. 

Most  of  the  local  newspapers  in  the  north  of  England 
at  once  recognized  the  truth  of  local  character  in  the 
book ;  but  one  Manchester  critic,  with  a  patriotism  for 
his  native  county  which  is  a  most  respectable  senti- 
ment, felt  hurt  by  my  descriptions  of  intemperance,  and 
treated  them  as  a  simple  calumny,  arguing  that  the  best 
answer  to  them  was  the  industry  of  the  county,  which 
would  not  have  been  compatible  with  such  habits.  I 
have  never  desired  to  imply  that  all  Lancashire  people 
were  drunkards,  but  there  are  certain  nooks  and  corners 
of  the  county  where  drinking  habits  were  prevalent,  in 
the  last  generation,  to  a  degree  which  is  not  exaggerated 
in  this  book.  Such  places  did  not  become  prosperous 
until  the  energy  of  the  better-conducted  inhabitants  pro- 
duced a  change  in  the  local  customs  ;  and  I  need  hardly 
say  that  the  hard  drinkers  themselves  were  unable 
to  follow  business  either  steadily  or  long.  Downright 
drunkenness  is  now  happily  no  longer  customary  in  the 
middle  classes,  and  in  the  present  day  men  use  stimu- 
lants rather  to  repair  temporarily  the  exhaustion  pro- 
duced by  over-work  than  for  any  bacchanalian  pleasure. 
In  this  more  modern  form  of  the  drinking  habit  I  do 
not  think   that    Lancashire   men   go  farther   than  the 


X  Preface  to  the  America7i  Editioii. 

inhabitants  of  other  very  busy  counties,  or  countries, 
where  the  strain  on  human  energy  is  so  great  that  there 
is  a  constant  temptation  to  seek  help  from  some  kind  of 
stimulating  beverage. 

The  only  other  objection  to  the  local  truth  of  Wender- 
holme  which  seems  to  require  notice  is  that  which  was 
advanced  in  the  Saturday  Review.  The  critic  in  that 
periodical  thought  it  untrue  to  English  character  to 
represent  a  man  in  Colonel  Stanburne's  position  as 
good-natured  enough  to  talk  familiarly  with  his  infe- 
riors. Well,  if  modern  literature  were  a  literature  of 
types,  and  not  of  persons,  such  an  objection  would  un- 
doubtedly hold  good.  The  typical  Englishman,  when 
he  has  money  and  rank,  is  certainly  a  very  distant  and 
reserved  being,  except  to  people  of  his  own  condition  ; 
but  there  are  exceptions  to  this  rule,  —  I  have  known 
several  in  real  life,  —  and  I  preferred  to  paint  an  excep- 
tion, for  the  simple  reason  that  reserve  and  pride  are 
the  death  of  human  interest.  It  would  be  possible 
enough  to  introduce  a  cold  and  reserved  aristocrat  in  a 
novel  of  English  life,  —  such  personages  have  often  been 
delineated  with  great  skill  and  fidelity,  —  but  I  maintain 
that  they  do  not  excite  sympathy  and  interest,  and  that 
it  would  be  a  mistake  in  art  to  place  one  of  them  in  a 
central  situation,  such  as  that  of  Colonel  Stanburne  in 
this  volume.  They  may  be  useful  in  their  place,  like  a 
lump  of  ice  on  a  dinner-table. 

On  the  first  publication  of  Wenderhohne,  the  author 
received  a  number  of  letters  /rom  people  who  were  quite 
convinced  that  they  had  recognized  the  originals  of  the 
characters.  The  friends  and  acquaintances  of  novelists 
always  amuse  themselves  in  this  way ;  and  yet  it  seldom 
happens,  I  believe,  that  there  is  any  thing  like  a  real 


Preface  to  the  American  Edition.  xi 

portrait  in  a  novel.  A  character  is  suggested  by  some 
real  person,  but  when  once  the  fictitious  character  exists 
in  the  brain  of  the  author,  he  forgets  the  source  of  the 
original  suggestion,  and  simply  reports  what  the  imagi- 
nary personage  says  and  does.  It  is  narrated  of  an 
eminent  painter,  famous  for  the  saintly  beauty  of  his 
virgins,  that  his  only  model  for  them  was  an  old  man- 
servant, and  this  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  imagination  operates.  Some  of  my  corre- 
spondents made  guesses  which  were  very  wide  of  the 
mark.  One  lady,  whom  I  had  never  thought  about  in 
connection  with  the  novel  at  all,  recognized  herself  in 
Mrs.  Prigley,  confessed  her  sins,  and  promised  amend- 
ment ;  an  illusion  scarcely  to  be  regretted,  since  it  may 
have  been  productive  of  moral  benefit.  A  whole  town- 
ship fancied  that  it  recognized  Jacob  Ogden  in  a  wealthy 
manufacturer,  whose  face  had  not  been  present  to  me 
when  I  conceived  the  character.  A  correspondent  rec- 
ognized Dr.  Bardly  as  the  portrait  of  a  surgeon  in  Lan- 
cashire who  was  never  once  in  my  mind's  eye  during 
the  composition  of  the  novel.  The  Doctor  was  really 
suggested  by  a  Frenchman,  quite  ignorant  of  the  Lan- 
cashire dialect,  and  even  of  English.  But,  of  all  these 
guesses,  one  of  the  commonest  was  that  Philip  Stan- 
burne  represented  the  author  himself,  probably  because 
he  was  called  Philip.  There  is  no  telling  what  may 
happen  to  us  before  we  die ;  but  I  hope  that  the  sup- 
posed original  of  Jacob  Ogden  may  preserve  his  sanity 
to  the  end  of  his  earthly  pilgrimage,  and  that  the  author 
of  this  volume  may  not  end  his  days  in  a  monastery. 

P.  G.  H 


CONTENTS. 


PART   I. 

Chapter 

I.  Manners  and  Customs  of  Shayton    ....  i 

II.    Grandmother  and  Grandson 5 

III.  At  the  Parsonage i6 

IV.  Isaac  Ogden  becomes  a  Backslider  ....  29 
V.    Father  and  Son 42 

VI.    Little  Jacob  is  lost 52 

VII.    Isaac  Ogden's  Punishment 59 

VIII.  From  Sootythorn  to  Wenderholme  ....  69 

IX.    The  Fugitive 87 

X.    Christmas  at  Milend 94 

XI.    The  Colonel  goes  to  Shayton 106 

XII.    Ogden's  New  Mill 119 

XIII.  Stanithburn  Peel 130 

XIV.  At  Sootythorn 136 

XV.    With  the  Militia I43 

XVI.    A  Case  of  Assault 15° 

XVII.    Isaac  Ogden  again ^S5 

XVIII.    Isaac's  Mother  comes 161 

XIX.    The  Colonel  at  Whittlecup 170 

XX.    Philip  Stanburne  in  Love I74 

XXI.    The  Wenderholme  Coach 179 

XXII.    Colonel  Stanburne  apologizes 185 


XIV 


Contents. 


Chapter 

XXIII.  Husband  and  Wife 193 

XXIV.  The  Colonel  as  a  Consoler 201 

XXV.  Wenderholme  in  Festivity 212 

XXVI.  More  Fireworks 225 

XXVII.  The  Fire      229 

XXVIII.  Father  and  Daughter 238 

XXIX.  Progress  of  the  Fire 241 

XXX.  Uncle  Jacob's  Love  Affair 249 

XXXI.  Uncle  Jacob  is  accepted 252 

XXXII.  Mr.  Stedman  relents 258 

XXXIII.  The  Saddest  in  the  Book 265 

XXXIV.  Jacob  Ogden  free  again 273 

XXXV.  Little  Jacob's  Education 280 

XXXVI.  A  Short  Correspondence 284 

XXXVII.  At  Wenderholme  Cottage 286 

XXXVIII.  Artistic  Intoxication 290 

XXXIX.  Good-bye  to  Little  Jacob  .......  301 


PART    II. 


L    After  Long  Years 303 

II.    In  the  Dining- Room 318 

III.    In  the  Drawing-Room 322 

IV.    Alone 327 

V.    The  Two  Jacobs 331 

VI.    The  Sale 336 

VII.    A  Frugal  Supper 340 

VIII.    At  Chesnut  Hill 345 

IX.    Ogden  of  Wenderholme 354 

X.    Young  Jacob  and  Edith 357 


Contents,  xv 

Chapter 

XI.    Edith's  Decision 366 

XII.    Jacob  Ogden's  Triumph 374 

XIII.  The  Blow-Out 380 

XIV.  Mrs.  Ogden's  Authority 389 

XV.    Lady  Helena  returns 393 

XVI.    The  Colonel  comes 400 

XVII.    A  Morning  Call 404 

XVIII.    Money  on  the  Brain 409 

XIX.    The  Colonel  at  Stanithburn 418 

XX.    A  Simple  Wedding 425 

XXI.    The  Monk 431 


WENDERHOLME. 


PART   I. 


I 


CHAPTER    I. 

MANNERS   AND   CUSTOMS   OF   SHAYTON. 

T  was  an  immemorial  custom  in  Sliayton  for  families  to 
restrict  themselves  to  a  very  few  Christian  names,  usually 
taken  from  the  Old  Testament,  and  these  were  repeated,  gen- 
eration after  generation,  from  a  feeling  of  respect  to  parents, 
very  laudable  in  itself,  but  not  always  convenient  in  its  con- 
sequences. Thus  in  the  family  of  the  Ogdens,  the  eldest  son 
was  always  called  Isaac,  and  the  second  Jacob,  so  that  if  they 
had  had  a  pedigree,  the  heralds  would  almost  have  been 
driven  to  the  expedient  of  putting  numbers  after  these  names, 
—  as  we  say  Henry  VIII.  or  Louis  XIV.  The  Isaac  Ogden 
who  appears  in  this  history  may  have  been,  if  collateral  Isaacs 
in  other  branches  were  taken  into  account,  perhaps  Isaac 
the  fortieth ;  indeed,  the  tombstones  in  Shayton  churchyard 
recorded  a  number  of  Isaac  Ogdens  that  was  perfectly  bewil- 
dering. Even  the  living  Isaac  Ogdens  were  numerous  enough 
to  puzzle  any  new-comer ;  and  a  postman  who  had  not  been 
accustomed  to  the  place,  but  was  sent  there  from  Rochdale, 
solemnly  declared  that  "  he  wished  all  them  Hisaac  Hogdens 
was  deead,  every  one  on  'em,  nobbut  just  about  five  or  six, 
an'  then  there'd  be  less  bother  about  t'  letters."  This  wish 
may  seem  hard  and  unchristian,  —  it  may  appear,  to  readers 
who  have  had  no  experience  in  the  delivery  of  letters,  that 


2  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

to  desire  the  death  of  a  fellow-creature  merely  because  he 
happened  to  be  called  Isaac  Ogden  implied  a  fearful  degree 
of  natural  malevolence;  but  the  business  of  a  postman  culti- 
vates an  eagerness  to  get  rid  of  letters,  whereof  the  lay  mind 
has  no  adear.ate  concepLion ;  and  when  a  bachelor  Isaac 
Ogden  got  a  letter  from  an  affectionate  wife,  or  an  Isaac 
Ogden,  who  never  owed  a  penny,  received  a  pressing  dun 
from  an  impatient  and  exasperated  creditor,  these  epistles 
were  returned  upon  the  postman's  hands,  and  he  became 
morbidly  anxious  to  get  rid  of  them,  or  "  shut  on  'em,"  as  he 
himself  expressed  it.  Some  annoying  mistakes  of  this  kind 
had  occurred  in  reference  to  our  Mr.  Isaac  Ogden  at  the  time 
when  he  was  engaged  to  Miss  Alice  Wheatley,  whose  first 
affectionate  letter  from  her  father's  house  at  Eatherby  had 
not  only  miscarried,  but  actually  been  opened  and  read  by 
several  Isaac  Ogdens  in  Shayton  and  its  vicinity;  for  poor 
Miss  Alice,  in  the  flurry  of  directing  her  first  epistle  to  her 
lover,  had  quite  forgotten  to  put  the  name  of  the  house  where 
he  then  lived.  This  was  particularly  annoying  to  Mr.  Ogden, 
who  had  wished  to  keep  his  engagement  secret,  in  order  to 
avoid  as  long  as  possible  the  banter  of  his  friends  ;  and  he 
sware  in  his  wrath  that  there  were  far  too  many  Isaac  Ogdens 
in  the  world,  and  that,  however  many  sons  he  had,  he  would 
never  add  to  their  number.  This  declaration  was  regarded 
by  his  mother,  and  by  the  public  opinion  of  the  elder  gene- 
ration generally,  as  little  better  than  a  profession  of  atheism  ; 
and  when  our  little  friend  Jacob,  about  whom  we  shall  have 
much  to  say,  was  christened  in  Shayton  church,  it  was  believed 
that  the  misguided  father  would  not  have  the  hardihood  to 
maintain  his  resolution  in  so  sacred  a  place.  He  had,  how- 
ever, the  courage  to  resist  the  name  of  Isaac,  though  it  was 
pressed  upon  him  with  painful  earnestness ;  but  he  did  not 
dare  to  offend  tradition  so  far  as  to  resist  that  of  Jacob  also, 
though  the  objections  to  it  were  in  truth  equally  cogent. 
On  his  rttirement  to  Twislle  Farm,  an  out-of-the-way  little 


Chap.  I.    Manner s  and  Customs  of  Shay  ton.  3 

estate  up  in  the  hill  country  near  Shayton,  Mr.  Ogden,  who 
was  now  a  widower,  determined,  at  least  for  the  present,  to 
educate  his  child  himself.  And  so  it  was  that,  at  the  age  of 
nine,  little  Jacob  was  rather  less  advanced  than  some  other 
boys  of  his  age.  He  had  not  begun  Latin  yet,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  read  English  easily  and  with  avidity,  and 
wrote  a  very  clear  and  legible  hand.  His  friend  Doctor 
Bardly,  the  Shayton  medical  man,  who  rode  up  to  Twistle 
Farm  very  often  (for  he  liked  the  fresh  moorland  air,  and 
enjoyed  a  chat  with  Mr.  Ogden  and  the  child),  used  to  exam- 
ine little  Jacob,  and  bring  him  amusing  books,  so  that  his 
young  friend  had  already  several  shelves  in  his  bedroom 
which  were  filled  with  instructive  histories  and  pleasant  tales. 
The  youthful  student  had  felt  offended  one  day  at  Milend, 
where  his  grandmother  and  his  Uncle  Jacob  lived,  when  a 
matronly  visitor  had  asked  whether  he  could  read.  . 
"  He  can  read  well  enough,"  said  his  grandmother. 
"  Well,  an'  what  can  he  read  ?  can  he  read  i'  th'  Bible  ? " 
The  restriction  of  Jacob's  reading  powers  to  one  book 
offended  him.  Could  he  not  read  all  English  books  at 
sight,  or  the  newspaper,  or  any  thing?  Indeed,  few  people 
in  Shayton,  except  the  Doctor,  read  as  much  as  the  little 
boy  at  Twistle  Farm  ;  and  when  his  uncle  at  Milend  dis- 
covered one  day  what  an  appetite  for  reading  the  child  had, 
he  was  not  altogether  pleased,  and  asked  whether  he  could 
"  cast  accounts."  Finding  him  rather  weak  in  the  elementary 
practice  of  arithmetic,  Uncle  Jacob  made  him  "do  sums" 
whenever  he  had  an  opportunity.  Arithmetic  (or  "  areth- 
mitic,"  as  Uncle  Jacob  pronounced  it)  was  at  Milend  consid- 
ered a  far  higher  attainment  than  the  profoundest  knowledge 
of  literature  ;  and,  indeed,  if  the  rank  of  studies  is  to  be 
estimated  by  their  influence  on  the  purse,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  Milend  folks  were  right.  Without  intending 
a  pun  (for  this  would  be  a  poor  one),  Uncle  Jacob  had  never 
found  any  thing  so  interesting  as  interest,  and  the  annual 


4  WenderJiolme,  Part  i. 

estimate  which  he  made  of  the  increase  of  his  fortune  brought 
home  to  his  mind  a  more  intense  sense  of  the  delightfulness 
of  addition  than  any  school-boy  ever  experienced.  But  arith- 
metic, like  every  other  human  pursuit,  has  its  painful  or 
unpleasant  side,  and  Uncle  Jacob  regarded  subtraction  and 
division  with  an  indescribable  horror  and  dread.  Subtraction, 
in  his  vivid  though  far  from  poetical  imagination,  never  meant 
any  thing  less  serious  than  losses  in  the  cotton  trade  ;  and 
division  evoked  the  alarming  picture  of  a  wife  and  eight 
children  dividing  his  profits  amongst  them.  Indeed,  he  never 
looked  upon  arithmetic  in  the  abstract,  but  saw  it  in  the 
successes  of  the  prosperous  and  the  failures  of  the  unfortu- 
nate,—  in  the  accumulations  of  rich  and  successful  bachelors 
like  himself,  and  the  impoverishment  of  struggling  mortals, 
for  whom  there  was  no  increase  save  in  the  number  of  their 
children.  And  this  concrete  conception  of  arithmetic  he 
endeavored  to  communicate  to  little  Jacob,  who,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  uncle's  teaching,  already  possessed  the  theory 
of  getting  rich,  and  was  so  far  advanced  in  the  practice  of 
it  that,  by  keeping  the  gifts  of  his  kind  patrons  and  friends^ 
he  had  nearly  twenty  pounds  in  the  savings  bank. 


Chap,  il       Grandmother  and  Grandson. 


CHAPTER   II. 

GRANDMOTHER   AND   GRANDSON. 

MRS.  OGDEN,  at  the  time  when  our  story  commences, 
was  not  much  above  sixty,  but  had  reached  an  appear- 
ance of  old  age,  though  a  very  vigorous  old  age,  which  she  kept 
without  perceptible  alteration  for  very  many  years  afterward. 
Her  character  will  develop  itself  sufficiently  in  the  course  of 
the  present  narrative  to  need  no  description  here ;  but  she 
had  some  outward  peculiarities  which  it  may  be  well  to 
enumerate. 

She  is  in  the  kitchen  at  Milend,  making  a  potato-pie, 
or  at  least  preparing  the  paste  for  one.  Whilst  she  delib- 
erately presses  the  rolling-pin,  and  whilst  the  sheet  of  paste 
becomes  wider  and  thinner  under  the  pressure  of  it  as  it 
travels  over  the  soft  white  surface,  we  perceive  that  Mrs. 
Ogden's  arms,  which  are  bare  nearly  to  the  elbow,  are  strong 
and  muscular  yet,  but  not  rounded  into  any  form  that  suggests 
reminiscences  of  beauty.  There  is  a  squareness  and  a  rigidity 
in  the  back  and  chest,  which  are  evidences  rather  of  strength 
of  body  and  a  resolute  character  than  of  grace.  The  visage, 
too,  can  never  have  been  pretty,  though  it  must  in  earlier  life 
have  possessed  the  attractiveness  of  health  ;  indeed,  although 
its  early  bloom  is  of  course  by  this  time  altogether  lost, 
there  remains  a  firmness  in  the  fleshy  parts  of  it  enough  to 
prove  that  the  possessor  is  as  yet  untouched  by  the  insidious 
advances  of  decay.  The  cheeks  are  prominent,  and  the  jaw 
is  powerful ;  but  although  the  forehead  is  high,  it  suggests  no 
ideas  of  intellectual  development,  and  seems  rather  to  have 


6  Wenderholme.  part  i. 

grown  merely  as  a  fine  vegetable-marrow  grows,  than  to  have 
been  developed  by  any  exercise  of  thought.  The  nose  is 
slightly  aquiline  in  outline,  but  too  large  and  thick  ;  the  lips, 
on  the  contrary,  are  thin  and  pale,  and  would  be  out  of  har- 
mony with  the  whole  face  if  the  eyes  did  not  so  accurately 
and  curiously  correspond  with  them.  Those  eyes  are  of  an 
exceedingly  light  gray,  rather  inclining  to  blue,  and  the  mind 
looks  out  from  them  in  what,  to  a  superficial  observer,  might 
seem  a  frank  and  direct  way ;  but  a  closer  analyst  of  charac- 
ter might  not  be  so  readily  satisfied  with  a  first  impression, 
and  might  fancy  he  detected  some  shade  of  possible  insin- 
cerity or  power  of  dissimulation.  The  hair  seems  rather 
scanty,  and  is  worn  close  to  the  face  ;  it  is  gray,  of  that 
peculiar  kind  which  results  from  a  mixture  of  very  fair  hairs 
with  perfectly  white  ones.  We  can  only  see  a  little  of  it, 
however,  on  account  of  the  cap. 

Although  Mrs.  Ogden  is  hard  at  work  in  her  kitchen,  mak- 
ing a  potato-pie,  and  although  it  is  not  yet  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  she  is  dressed  in  what  in  any  other  person  would 
be  considered  rather  an  extravagant  manner,  and  in  a  man- 
ner certainly  incongruous  with  her  present  occupation.  It  is 
a  theory  of  hers  that  she  is  so  exquisitely  neat  in  all  she 
does,  that  for  her  there  is  no  danger  in  wearing  any  dress 
she  chooses,  either  in  her  kitchen  or  elsewhere  ;  and  as  she 
has  naturally  a  love  for  handsome  clothes,  and  an  aversion 
to  changing  her  dress  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  she  conies 
downstairs  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  as  if  she  had  just 
dressed  to  receive  a  small  dinner-party.  The  clothes  that 
she  wears  just  now  have  in  fact  done  duty  at  past  dinner- 
parties, and  are  quite  magnificent  enough  for  a-lady  at  the 
head  of  her  table,  cutting  potato-pies  instead  of  fabricating 
them,  if  only  they  were  a  little  less  shabby,  and  somewhat 
more  in  harmony  with  the  prevailing  fashion.  Her  dress  is 
a  fine-flowered  satin,  which  a  punster  would  at  once  acknowl- 
edge in  a  double  sense  if  he  saw  the  farinaceous  scatterings 


Chap.  II.       Grandmother  and  Grandson.  7 

which  just  now  adorn  it ;  and  her  cap  is  so  splendid  in  rib- 
bons that  no  writer  of  the  male  sex  could  aspire  to  describe 
it  adequately.  She  wears  an  enormous  cameo  brooch,  and  a 
long  gold  chain  whose  fancy  links  are  interrupted  or  con- 
nected by  little  glittering  octagonal  bars,  like  the  bright  glass 
bugles  in  her  head-dress.  The  pattern  of  her  satin  is  occa- 
sionally obscured  by  spots  of  grease,  notwithstanding  Mrs. 
Ogden's  theory  that  she  is  too  neat  and  careful  to  incur  any 
risk  of  such  accidents.  One  day  her  son  Isaac  had  ventured 
to  call  his  mother's  attention  to  these  spots,  and  to  express 
an  opinion  that  it  might  perhaps  be  as  well  to  have  two  ser- 
vants instead  of  one,  and  resign  practical  kitchen-work ;  or 
else  that,  if  she  would  be  a  servant  herself,  she  ought  to 
dress  like  one,  and  not  expose  her  fine  things  to  injury ;  but 
Mr.  Isaac  Ogden  received  such  an  answer  as  gave  him  no 
encouragement  to  renew  his  remonstrances  on  a  subject  so 
delicate.  "  My  dresses,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden,  "  are  paid  for  out 
of  my  own  money,  and  I  shall  wear  them  when  I  like  and 
where  I  like.  If  ever  my  son  is  applied  to  to  pay  my  bills 
for  me,  he  may  try  to  teach  me  economy,  but  I  'm  'appy  to 
say  that  I  'm  not  dependent  upon  him  either  for  what  I  eat 
or  for  what  I  drink,  or  for  any  thing  that  I  put  on."  The 
other  brother,  who  lived  under  the  same  roof  with  Mrs. 
Ogden,  and  saw  her  every  day,  had  a  closer  instinctive  feel- 
ing of  what  might  and  might  not  be  said  to  her,  and  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  suggesting  any  abdication,  however 
temporary,  of  her  splendors,  as  of  suggesting  to  Queen  Vic- 
toria that  she  might  manage  without  the  luxuries  of  her 
station. 

When  the  potato-pie  stood  ready  for  the  oven,  with  an 
elegant  little  chimney  in  the  middle  and  various  ornaments 
of  paste  upon  the  crust,  Mrs.  Ogden  made  another  quantity 
of  paste,  and  proceeded  to  the  confection  of  a  roly-poly 
pudding.  She  was  proud  of  her  roly-polies,  and,  indeed,  ot 
every  thing  she  made  or  did ;  but  her  roly-polies  were  really 


8  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

good,  for,  as  her  pride  was  here  more  especially  concerned, 
she  economized  nothing,  and  was  liberal  in  preserves.  She 
had  friends  in  a  warm  and  fertile  corner  of  Yorkshire  who 
were  rich  in  apricots,  and  sent  every  year  to  Milend  several 
large  pots  of  the  most  delicious  apricot  preserve,  and  she 
kept  this  exclusively  for  roly-polies,  and  had  won  thereby  a 
great  fame  and  reputation  in  Shay  ton,  where  apricot-puddings 
were  by  no  means  of  everyday  occurrence. 

The  judicious  reader  may  here  criticise  Mrs.  Ogden,  or 
find  fault  with  the  author,  because  she  makes  potato-pie  and 
a  roly-poly  on  the  same  day.  Was  there  not  rather  too  much 
paste  for  one  dinner, — baked  paste  that  roofed  over  the 
savory  contents  of  the  pie-dish,  and  boiled  paste  that  en- 
closed in  its  ample  folds  the  golden  lusciousness  of  those 
Yorkshire  apricots  ?  Some  reflection  of  this  kind  may  arise 
in  the  mind  of  Jacob  Ogden  when  he  comes  back  from  the 
mill  to  his  dinner.  He  may  possibly  think  that  for  to-day 
the  pie  might  have  been  advantageously  replaced  by  a  beef- 
steak, but  he  is  too  wise  not  to  keep  all  such  reflections 
within  his  own  breast.  No  such  doubts  or  perplexities  will 
ever  disturb  his  mother,  simply  because  she  is  convinced  that 
no  man  can  eat  too  much  of  her  pastry.  Other  people's 
pastry  one  might  easily  get  too  much  of,  but  that  is  different. 

And  there  is  a  special  reason  for  the  pudding  to-day. 
Lvttle  Jacob  is  expected  at  dinner-time,  and  little  Jacob  loves 
pudding,  especially  apricot  roly-poly.  His  grandmother,  not 
a  very  affectionate  woman  by  nature,  is,  nevertheless,  dot- 
ingly  fond  of  the  lad,  and  always  makes  a  little  feast  to 
welcome  him  and  celebrate  his  coming.  On  ordinary  days 
they  never  have  any  dessert  at  Milend,  but,  as  soon  as  dinner 
is  over.  Uncle  Jacob  hastily  jumps  up  and  goes  to  the 
cupboard  where  the  decanters  are  kept,  pours  himself  two 
glasses  of  port,  and  swallows  them  one  after  the  other, 
standing,  after  which  he  is  off  again  to  the  mill.  When  little 
Jacob  comes,  what  a  difference  !     There  is  a  splendid  dessert 


Chap.  II.        Grmicimot/ier  and  Grandson.  9 

of  gingerbread,  nuts,  apples,  and  fruits  glacis;  there  are 
stately  decanters  of  port  and  sherry,  with  a  bottle  of  spark- 
ling elder-flower  wine  in  the  middle,  and  champagne-glasses 
to  drink  it  from.  There  is  plenty  of  real  champagne  in  the 
cellars,  but  this  home-made  vintage  is  considered  better  for 
little  Jacob,  who  feels  no  other  effect  from  it  than  an  almost 
irresistible  sleepiness.  He  likes  to  see  the  sparkling  bubbles 
rise  ;  and,  indeed,  few  beverages  are  prettier  or  pleasanter  to 
the  taste  than  Mrs.  Ogden's  elder-flower  wine.  It  is  as  clear 
as  crystal,  and  sparkles  like  the  most  brilliant  wit. 

But  we  are  anticipating  every  thing ;  we  have  jumped  from 
the  very  fabrication  of  the  roly-poly  to  the  sparkling  of  the 
elder-flower,  of  that  elder-flower  which  never  sparkled  at 
Milend,  and  should  not  have  done  so  in  this  narrative,  until 
the  pudding  had  been  fully  disposed  of.  The  reader  may, 
however,  take  that  for  granted,  and  feel  perfectly  satisfied 
that  little  Jacob  has  done  his  duty  to  the  pudding,  as  he  is 
now  doing  it  to  the  nuts  and  wine.  He  has  a  fancy  for 
putting  his  kernels  into  the  wine-glass,  and  fishing  them  out 
with  a  spoon,  and  is  so  occupied  just  now,  whilst  grandmother 
and  Uncle  Jacob  sit  patiently  looking  on. 

"  Jerry  likes  nuts,"  says  little  Jacob  ;  "  I  wonder  if  he  likes 
wine  too." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden,  with  her 
slow  and  distinct  pronunciation,  —  "  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
if  young  men  would  take  example  by  their  'orses,  and  drink 
nothing  but  water." 

"Nay,  nay,  mother,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  " you  wouldn't  wish 
to  see  our  lad  a  teetotaller." 

"  I  see  no  'arm  in  bein'  a  teetotaller,  and  I  see  a  good 
deal  of  'arm  that 's  brought  on  with  drinking  spirits.  I  wish 
the  lad's  father  was  a  teetotaller.  But  come"  (to  little  Ja- 
cob), "  you  '11  'ave  another  glass  of  elder-flower.  Well,  willn't 
ye  now  ?     Then  'ave  a  glass  of  port ;  it  '11  do  you  no  'arm." 

Mrs.  Ogden's  admiration  for  teetotalism  was  entirely  theo- 


lO  Weiider holme,  part  i. 

retical.  She  approved  of  it  in  the  abstract  and  in  the  dis- 
tance, but  she  could  not  endure  to  sit  at  table  with  a  man 
who  did  not  take  his  glass  like  the  rest;  the  nonconformity 
to  custom  irritated  her.  There  was  a  curate  at  Shayton  who 
thought  it  his  duty  to  be  a  teetotaller  in  order  to  give  weight 
to  his  arguments  against  the  evil  habit  of  the  place,  and  the 
curate  dined  occasionally  at  Milend  without  relaxing  from 
the  rigidity  of  his  rule.  Mrs.  Ogden  was  always  put  out  by 
his  empty  wine-glass  and  the  pure  water  in  his  tumbler,  and 
she  let  him  have  no  peace  ;  so  that  for  some  time  past  he 
had  declined  her  invitations,  and  only  dropped  in  to  tea, 
taking  care  to  escape  before  spirits  and  glasses  were  brought 
forth  from  the  cupboard,  where  they  lay  in  wait  for  him.  The 
reader  need  therefore  be  under  no  apprehensions  that  little 
Jacob  was  likely  to  be  educated  in  the  chilly  principles  of 
teetotalism ;  or  at  least  he  may  rest  assured  that,  however 
much  its  principles  might  be  extolled  in  his  presence,  the 
practice  of  it  would  neither  be  enforced  nor  even  tolerated. 

"I  say,  I  wish  my  son  Isaac  was  a  teetotaller.  I  hear  tell 
of  his  coming  to  Shayton  time  after  time  without  ever  so  much 
as  looking  at  Milend.  Wasn't  your  father  in  the  town  on 
Tuesday  ?  I  know  he  was,  I  was  told  so  by  those  that  saw 
him  ;  and  if  he  was  in  the  town,  what  was  to  hinder  him  from 
coming  to  Milend  to  his  tea  ?  Did  he  come  down  by  himself, 
or  did  you  come  with  him,  Jacob  ? " 

"  I  came  with  him,  grandmother." 

"  Well,  and  why  didn't  you  come  here,  my  lad  ?  You 
know  you  're  always  welcome." 

"  Father  had  his  tea  at  the  Red  Lion.  Well,  it  wasn't 
exactly  tea,  for  he  drank  ale  to  it ;  but  I  had  tea  with  him, 
and  we  'd  a  lobster." 

"  I  wish  he  wouldn't  do  so." 

"Why,  mother,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  "  1  see  no  great  'arm  in 
drinking  a  pint  of  ale  and  eating  a  lobster;  and  if  he  didn't 
come   to    Milend,  most  likely  he  'd  somebody  to  see  ;  very 


Chap.  II.       Grandmother  and  Grandson.  1 1 

likely  one  of  his  tenants  belonging  to  that  row  of  cottages 
he  bought.  I  wish  he  hadn't  bought  'em  ;  he  '11  have  more 
bother  with 'em  than  they're  worth." 

"  But  what  did  he  do  keeping  a  young  boy  like  little  Jacob 
at  the  Red  Lion  t  Why  couldn't  he  send  him  here  ?  The  lad 
knows  the  way,  I  reckon."  Then  to  her  grandson,  —  "  What 
time  was  it  when  you  both  went  home  to  Twistle  Farm  ?  " 

"  We  didn't  go  home  together,  grandmother.  Father  was 
in  the  parlor  at  the  Red  Lion,  and  left  me  behind  the  bar, 
where  we  had  had  our  tea,  till  about  eight  o'clock,  when  he 
sent  a  message  that  I  was  to  go  home  by  myself.  So  I 
went  home  on  Jerry,  and  father  stopped  all  night  at  the  Red 
Lion." 

"  Why,  it  was  after  dark,  child  !  and  there  was  no  moon  !  " 

"  I  'm  not  afraid  of  being  out  in  the  dark,  grandmother ;  I 
don't  believe  in  ghosts." 

"  What,  hasn't  th' child  sense  enough  to  be  frightened  in 
the  dark  ?  If  he  doesn't  believe  in  ghosts  at  his  age,  it 's  a 
bad  sign ;  but  he  's  got  a  father  that  believes  in  nothing  at 
all,  for  he  never  goes  to  church  ;  and  there  's  that  horrid  Dr. 
Bardly  "  — 

"  He  isn't  horrid,  grandmother,"  replied  little  Jacob,  with 
much  spirit ;  "he 's  very  jolly,  and  gives  me  things,  and  I  love 
him  ;  he  gave  me  a  silver  horn." 

Now  Dr.  Bardly's  reputation  for  orthodoxy  in  Shayton  was 
greatly  inferior  to  his  renown  as  a  medical  practitioner ;  but 
as  the  inhabitants  had  both  Mr.  Prigley  and  his  curate,  as  well 
as  several  Dissenting  ministers,  to  watch  over  the  interests 
of  their  souls,  they  had  no  objection  to  allow  Mr.  Bardly  to 
keep  their  stomachs  in  order ;  at  least  so  far  as  was  com- 
patible with  the  freest  indulgence  in  good  living.  His  bad 
name  for  heterodoxy  had  been  made  worse  by  his  favorite 
studies.  He  was  an  anatomist,  and  therefore  was  supposed 
to  believe  in  brains  rather  than  souls ;  and  a  geologist,  there- 
fore he  assigned  an  unscriptural  antiquity  to  the  earth. 


12  Wcndcrholme.  I'art  i. 

"  I  'm  sure  it 's  that  Dr.  Bardly,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden,  "  that 's 
ruined  our  Isaac." 

"  Why,  mother,  Bardly  's  one  o'  th'  soberest  men  in  Shayton  ; 
and  being  a  doctor  beside,  he  isn't  likely  to  encourage  Isaac 
i'  bad  'abits." 

"  I  wish  Isaac  weren't  so  fond  on  him.  He  sets  more  store 
by  Dr.  Bardly,  and  by  all  that  he  says,  than  by  any  one  else 
in  the  place.  He  likes  him  better  than  Mr.  Prigley.  I  've 
heard  him  say  so,  sittin'  at  this  very  table.  I  wish  he  liked 
Mr.  Prigley  better,  and  would  visit  with  him  a  little.  He  'd  get 
nothing  but  good  at  the  parsonage  ;  whereas  they  tell  me  — 
and  no  doubt  it's  true  —  that  there's  many  a  bad  book  in 
Dr.  Bardly's  library.  I  think  I  shall  ask  Mr.  Prigley  just  to 
set  ceremony  on  one  side,  and  go  and  call  upon  Isaac  up  at 
Twistle  Farm ;  no  doubt  he  would  be  kind  enough  to  do  so." 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use,  mother,  except  to  Prigley's  appe- 
tite, that  might  be  a  bit  sharpened  with  a  walk  up  to  Twistle ; 
but  supposin'  he  got  there,  and  found  Isaac  at  'ome,  Isaac 
'ud  be  as  civil  as  civil,  and  he  'd  ax  Prigley  to  stop  his 
dinner;  and  Prigley  'ud  no  more  dare  to  open  his  mouth 
about  Isaac's  goin's  on  than  our  sarvint  lass  'ud  ventur  to 
tell  you  as  you  put  too  mich  salt  i'  a  potato-pie.  It's  poor 
folk  as  parsons  talks  to ;  they  willn't  talk  to  a  chap  wi'  ten 
thousand  pound  till  he  axes  'em,  except  in  a  general  way  in 
a  pulpit." 

"Well,  Jacob,  if  Mr.  Prigley  were  only  just  to  go  and 
renew  his  acquaintance  with  our  Isaac,  it  would  be  so  much 
gained,  and  it  might  lead  to  his  amendment." 

"  Mother,  I  don't  think  he  needs  so  much  amendment. 
Isaac 's  right  enough.  I  believe  he 's  always  sober  up  at 
Twistle;  isn't  he,  little  'un  ?  " 

Little  Jacob,  thus  appealed  to,  assented,  but  in  rather  a 
doubtful  and  reserved  manner,  as  if  something  remained 
behind  which  he  had  not  courage  to  say.  His  grandmother 
observed  this. 


Chap.  II.         G^'andmotlier  a^id  Grandson.  1 3 

"  Now,  my  lad,  tell  me  the  whole  truth.  It  can  do  your 
father  no  'arm  —  nothing  but  good  —  to  let  us  know  all  about 
what  he  does.  Your  father  is  my  son,  and  I  've  a  right  to 
know  all  about  him.  I  'm  very  anxious,  and  'ave  been,  ever 
since  I  knew  that  he  was  goin'  again  to  the  Red  Lion.  I 
'oped  he  'd  given  that  up  altogether.  You  must  tell  me  — 
I  insist  upon  it." 

Little  Jacob  said  nothing,  but  began  to  cry. 

"  Nay,  nay,  lad,"  said  his  uncle,  "  a  great  felly  like  thee 
should  never  skrike.  Thy  grandmother  means  ndut.  Mother, 
you  're  a  bit  hard  upon  th'  lad  ;  it  isn't  fair  to  force  a  child 
to  be  witness  again'  its  own  father."  With  this  Uncle  Jacob 
rose  and  left  the  room,  for  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  to  the 
mill ;  and  then  Mrs.  Ogden  rose  from  her  chair,  and  with  the 
stiff  stately  walk  that  was  habitual  to  her,  and  that  she  never 
could  lay  aside  even  under  strong  emotion,  approached  her 
grandson,  and,  bending  over  him,  gave  him  one  kiss  on  the 
forehead.  This  kiss,  be  it  observed,  was  a  very  exceptional 
event.  Jacob  always  kissed  his  grandmother  when  he  came 
to  Milend ;  but  she  was  invariably  passive,  though  it  was 
plain  that  the  ceremony  was  agreeable  to  her,  from  a  certain 
softness  that  spread  over  her  features,  and  which  differed 
from  their  habitual  expression.  So  when  Jacob  felt  the  old 
lady's  lips  upon  his  forehead,  a  thrill  of  tenderness  ran 
through  his  little  heart,  and  he  sobbed  harder  than  ever. 

Mrs.  Ogden  drew  a  chair  close  to  his,  and,  putting  her 
hand  on  his  brow  so  as  to  turn  his  face  a  little  upwards  that 
she  might  look  well  into  it,  said,  "  Come  now,  little  un,  tell 
granny  all  about  it." 

What  the  kiss  had  begun,  the  word  "  granny  "  fully  accom- 
plished. Little  Jacob  dried  his  eyes  and  resolved  to  tell  his 
sorrows. 

"Grandmother,"  he  said,  "father  is  so — so"  — 

"  So  what,  my  lad  ? " 

"  Well,  he  beats  me,  grandmother  !  " 


> 


14  Wenderholme.  part  i. 

Now  IMrs.  Ogden,  though  she  loved  Jacob  as  strongly  as 
her  nature  permitted,  by  no  means  wished  to  see  him  entirely 
exempt  from  corporal  punishment.  She  knew,  on  the  au- 
thority of  Scripture,  that  it  was  good  for  children  to  be 
beaten,  that  the  rod  was  a  salutary  thing  ;  and  she  at  once 
concluded  that  little  Jacob  had  been  punished  for  some  fault 
which  in  her  own  code  would  have  deserved  such  punishment, 
and  would  have  drawn  it  down  upon  her  own  sons  when  they 
were  of  his  age.  So  she  was  neither  astonished  nor  indignant, 
and  asked,  merely  by  way  of  continuing  the  conversation,  — 

"  And  when  did  he  beat  thee,  child  ?  " 

If  Jacob  had  been  an  artful  advocate  of  his  own  cause, 
he  would  have  cited  one  of  those  instances  unhappily  toe 
numerous  during  the  last  few  months,  when  he  had  beew 
severely  punished  on  the  slightest  possible  pretexts,  or  eveh 
without  any  pretext  whatever ;  but  as  recent  events  occupy 
the  largest  space  in  our  recollection,  and  as  all  troubles 
diminish  by  a  sort  of  perspective  according  to  the  length  of 
time  that  has  happened  since  their  occurrence,  Jacob,  of 
course,  instanced  a  beating  that  he  had  received  that  very 
morning,  and  of  which  certain  portions  of  his  bodily  frame, 
by  their  uncommon  stiffness  and  soreness,  still  kept  up  the 
most  lively  remembrance. 

"  He  beat  me  this  morning,  grandmother." 

"And  what  for?" 

"  Because  I  spilt  some  ink  on  my  new  trowsers  that  I  'd  put 
on  to  come  to  Milend." 

"  Well,  then,  my  lad.  all  I  can  say  is  that  you  deserved  it, 
and  should  take  better  care.  Do  you  think  that  your  father 
is  to  buy  good  trowsers  for  you  to  spill  ink  upon  them  the 
very  first  time  you  put  them  on?  You  '11  soon  come  to  ruin 
at  that  rate.  Little  boys  should  learn  to  take  care  of  their 
things  \  your  Uncle  Jacob  was  as  kerfle  *  as  possible  of  his 
things ;  indeed  he  was  the  kerflest  boy  I  ever  saw  in  all  my 

*  Careful. 


Chap.  II.         Grandmother  mid  Grandson.  15 

life,  and  I  wish  you  could  take  after  him.  It 's  a  very  great 
thing  is  kerfleness.  There 's  people  as  thinks  that  when 
they  've  worn  *  their  money  upon  a  thing,  it 's  no  use  lookin' 
after  it,  and  mindin'  it,  because  the  money  's  all  worn  and 
gone,  and  so  they  pay  no  heed  to  their  things  when  once 
they  've  got  them.  And  what 's  the  consequence  ?  They  find 
that  they  have  to  be  renewed,  that  new  ones  must  be  bought 
when  the  old  ones  ought  to  have  been  quite  good  yet ;  and 
so  they  spend  and  spend,  when  they  might  spare  and  have 
every  thing  just  as  decent,  if  they  could  only  learn  a  little 
kerfleness." 

After  this  lecture,  Mrs.  Ogden  slowly  rose  from  her  seat 
and  proceeded  to  put  the  decanters  into  a  triangular  cupboard 
that  occupied  a  corner  of  the  room.  In  due  course  of  time 
the  apples,  the  gingerbread,  and  the  nuts  alike  disappeared 
in  its  capacious  recesses,  and  were  hidden  from  little  Jacob's 
eyes  by  folding-doors  of  dark  mahogany,  polished  till  they 
resembled  mirrors,  and  reflected  the  window  with  its  glimpse 
of  dull  gray  sky.  After  this  Mrs.  Ogden  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  look  after  some  household  affairs,  and  her  grand- 
son went  to  the  stable  to  see  Jerry,  and  to  make  the  acquaint- 
dlice  of  some  puppies  which  had  recently  come  into  the  world, 
but  were  as  yet  too  blind  to  have  formed  any  opinion  of  its 
beauties. 

*  Spent. 


1 6  IVender holme.  Part  i 


CHAPTER   III. 

AT  THE  PARSONAGE. 

MRS.  OGDEN'S  desire  to  bring  about  a  renewal  of  the 
acquaintance  between  her  son  Isaac  and  Mr.  Prigley 
was  not  an  unwise  one,  even  if  considered  independently  of 
his  religious  interests.  Mr.  Prigley,  though  by  no  means  a 
man  of  first-rate  culture  or  capacity,  was  still  the  only  gentle- 
man in  Shayton,  —  the  only  man  in  the  place  who  resolutely 
kept  himself  up  to  the  standard  of  the  outer  world,  and 
refused  to  adopt  the  local  dialect  and  manners.  No  doubt 
the  Doctor  was  in  a  certain  special  sense  a  gentleman,  and 
much  more  than  a  gentleman,  —  he  was  a  man  of  high  attain- 
ment, and  had  an  excellent  heart.  But,  so  far  from  desiring 
to  rise  above  the  outward  ideal  of  the  locality,  he  took 
a  perverse  pleasure  in  remaining  a  little  below  it.  His 
language  was  a  shade  more  provincial  than  that  of  the 
neighboring  manufacturers,  and  his  manners  somewhat  more 
rugged  and  abrupt  than  theirs.  Perhaps  he  secretly  enjoyed 
the  contrast  between  the  commonplace  exterior  which  he 
affected,  and  the  elaborate  intellectual  culture  which  he  knew 
himself  to  possess.  He  resembled  the  house  he  lived  in, 
v/hich  was,  as  to  its  exterior,  so  perfectly  commonplace  that 
every  one  would  pass  it  without  notice,  yet  which  contained 
greater  intellectual  riches,  and  more  abundant  material  for 
reflection,  than  all  the  other  houses  in  Shayton  put  together. 
Therefore,  if  I  say  that  Mr.  Prigley  was  the  only  gentleman 
in  the  place,  I  mean  externally,  —  in  language  and  manner. 
The  living  of  Shayton    was  a  very  meagre  one,  and  Mr. 


Chap.  III.  At  the  Parsonage.  17 

Prigley  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  himself  above  water  ; 
but  there  is  more  satisfaction  in  struggling  with  the  difficul- 
-ties  of  open  and  avowed  poverty  than  in  maintaining  deceitful 
appearances,  and  Mr.  Prigley  had  long  since  ceased  to  think 
about  appearances  at  all.     It  had  happened  some  time  ago 
that  the  carpets  showed  grievous  signs  of  wear,  and  in  fact 
were  so  full  of  holes  as  to  be  positively  dangerous.     They  had 
been  patched  and  mended  over  and  over  again,  and  an  in- 
genious  seamstress  employed  by    Mrs.    Prigley,    and   much 
valued  by  her,  had  darned  them  with  variously  colored  wools 
in  continuation  of  the  original  patterns,   so  that  (unless  on 
close  inspection)  the  repairs  were  not   very  evident.     Now, 
however,  both  Mrs.  Prigley  and  the  seamstress,  notwithstand- 
ing all  their  ingenuity  and  skill,  had  reluctantly  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  to  repair  the  carpets  in  their  present  advanced 
stage  of  decay  it  would  be  necessary  to  darn  nothing  less  than 
the  whole  area  of  them,  and  Mrs.  Prigley  declared  that  she  would 
rather  manufacture  new  ones  with  her  knitting-needles.     But 
if  buying  carpets  was  out  of  the  question,  so  it  was  not  less  out 
of  the  question  for  Mrs.  Prigley  to  fabricate  objects  of  luxury, 
since  her  whole  time  was  taken  up  by  matters  of  pressing 
necessity  ;  indeed,  the  poor  lady  could  only  just  keep  up  with 
the  ceaseless  accumulations  of  things  that  wanted  mending  j 
and  whenever  she  was  unwell  for  a  day  or  two,  and  unable  to 
work,  there  rose  such  a  heap  of  them  as  made  her  very  heart 
sink.     In  this  perplexity  about  the  carpets,  nature  was  left  to 
take  her  course,  and  the  carpets  were  abandoned  to  their  fate, 
but  still  left  upon  the  floors ;  for  how  were  they  ever  to  be  re- 
placed ?     By  a  most  unfortunate  coincidence,  Mr.  Prigley  dis- 
covered about  the  same  time  that  his  shirts,  though  apparently 
very  sound  and  handsome  shirts  indeed,  had  become  deplor- 
ably weak  in  the  tissue  ;  for  if,  in  dressing  himself  in  a  hurry, 
his  hand  did  not  just  happen  to  hit  the  orifice  of  the  sleeve, 
it  passed  through  the  fabric  of  the  shirt  itself,  and  that  with 
so  little  difficulty  that  he  was  scarcely  aware  of  any  impedi- 


1 8  Wenderholme.  Paki-  i. 

ment  ;  whilst  if  once  the  hem  were  severed,  the  immediate 
consequence  was  a  rent  more  than  a  foot  long.  Poor  Mrs. 
Frigley  had  mended  these  patiently  for  a  while  ;  but  one 
day,  after  marvelling  how  it  happened  that  her  husband 
had  become  so  violent  in  his  treatment  of  his  linen,  she  tried 
the  strength  of  it  herself,  and,  to  use  her  own  expressive 
phrase,  "  it  came  in  two  like  a  sheet  of  wet  paper."  It  was 
characteristic  of  the  Prigleys  that  they  determined  to  renew 
the  linen  at  once,  and  to  abandon  carpets  for  ever. 

Shayton  is  not  in  France,  and  to  do  without  carpets  in 
Shayton  amounts  to  a  confession  of  what,  in  the  middle  class, 
is  looked  upon  as  a  pitiable  destitution.  Mr.  Prigley  did  not 
care  much  about  this  ;  but  his  wife  was  more  sensitive  to 
public  opinion,  and,  long  after  that  heroic  resolution  had  been 
taken,  hesitated  to  put  it  in  execution.  Day  after  day  the 
ragged  remnants  remained  upon  the  floor,  and  still  did  Mrs. 
Prigley  procrastinate. 

Whilst  things  were  in  this  condition  at  the  parsonage,  the 
conversation  took  place  at  Milend  which  we  have  narrated  in 
the  preceding  chapter ;  and  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Ogden  had  seen 
things  straight  in  the  kitchen,  she  "  bethought  her,"  as  she 
would  have  herself  expressed  it,  that  it  might  be  a  step  to- 
wards intercourse  between  Isaac  Ogden  and  the  clergyman 
if  she  could  make  little  Jacob  take  a  fancy  to  the  parsonage. 
There  was  a  little  boy  there  nearly  his  own  age,  and  as  Jacob 
was  far  too  niuch  isolated,  the  acquaintance  would  be  equally 
desirable  for  him.  The  idea  was  by  no  means  new  to  her  ; 
indeed,  she  had  long  been  anxious  to  find  suitable  playmates 
for  her  grandson,  a  matter  of  which  Isaac  did  not  sufficiently 
perceive  the  importance  ;  and  she  had  often  intended  to  take 
steps  in  this  direction,  but  had  been  constantly  deterred  by 
the  feelings  of  dislike  to  Mr.  Prigley,  which  both  her  sons  did 
not  hesitate  to  express.  What  had  Mr.  Prigley  done  to  them 
that  they  should  never  be  able  to  speak  of  him  without  a 
shade  of  very  perceptible  aversion  or  contempt  ?     They  had 


Chap.  III.  At  the  Parso7tage.  19 

no  definite  accusation  to  make  against  him  ;  they  did  not 
attempt  to  justify  their  antipathy,  but  the  antipathy  did  not 
disguise  itself.  In  an  agricultural  district  the  relations  between 
the  parson  and  the  squire  are  often  cordial  ;  in  a  manu- 
facturing district  the  relations  between  the  parson  and 
the  mill-owners  are  usually  less  intimate,  and  have  more  the 
character  of  accidental  neighborship  than  of  natural  alliance. 

The  intercourse  between  Milend  and  the  parsonage  had 
been  so  infrequent  that  Mrs.  Prigley  was  quite  astonished 
when  Betty,  the  maid-of-all-work,  announced  Mrs.  Ogden  as 
she  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  sitting-room.  But  she  was 
much  more  astonished  when  Mrs.  Ogden,  instead  of  quietly 
advancing  in  her  somewhat  stiff  and  formal  manner,  fell  for- 
ward on  the  floor  with  outstretched  arms  and  a  shriek.  Mrs. 
Prigley  shrieked  too,  little  Jacob  tried  manfully  to  lift  up  his 
grandmother,  and  poor  Betty,  not  knowing  what  to  say  under 
circumstances  so  unexpected,  but  vaguely  feeling  that  she 
was  likely  to  incur  blame,  and  might  possibly  (though  in  some 
manner  not  yet  clear  to  her)  deserve  it,  begged  Mrs.  Ogden's 
pardon.  Mr.  Prigley  was  busy  writing  a  sermon  in  his  study, 
and  being  suddenly  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  what  seemed 
to  him  an  uncommonly  eloquent  passage  on  the  spread  of 
infidelity,  rushed  to  the  scene  of  the  accident  in  a  state  of 
great  mental  confusion,  which  for  some  seconds  prevented 
him  from  recognizing  Mrs.  Ogden,  or  Mrs.  Ogden's  bonnet, 
for  the  lady's  face  was  not  visible  to  him  as  he  stood  amazed 
in  the  doorway.  "  Bless  me  !  "  thought  Mr.  Prigley,  "  here  's 
a  woman  in  a  fit ! "  And  then  came  a  dim  and  somewhat 
unchristian  feeling  that  women  liable  to  fits  need  not  just 
come  and  have  them  in  the  parlor  at  the  parsonage.  "  It 's 
Mrs.  Ogden,  love,"  said  Mrs.  Prigley ;  "  and,  oh  dear,  I  am  so 
sorry !  " 

By  the  united  efforts  of  the  parson  and  his  wife,  joined  to 
those  of  Betty  and  little  Jacob,  Mrs.  Ogden  was  placed  upon 
the  sofa,  and  Mr.  Prigley  went  to  fetch  some  brandy  from  the 


20  Wenderholme.  Part  I, 

dining  room.  On  his  way  to  the  door,  the  cause  of  the  acci- 
dent became  apparent  to  him  in  the  shape  of  a  yawning  rent 
in  the  carpet,  which  was  dragged  up  in  great  folds  and 
creases  several  inches  high.  He  had  no  time  to  do  justice  to 
the  subject  now,  and  so  refrained  from  making  any  obser- 
vation ;  but  he  fully  resolved  that,  whether  Mrs.  Prigley  liked 
it  or  not,  all  ragged  old  carpets  should  disappear  from  the 
parsonage  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Ogden  could  be  got  out  of  it. 
When  Mrs.  Prigley  saw  the  hole  in  her  turn,  she  was  over- 
whelmed with  a  sense  of  culpability,  and  felt  herself  to  be 
little  better  than  a  murderess. 

"  Betty,  run  and  fetch  Dr.  Bardly  as  fast  as  ever  you  can." 

"  Please  let  me  go,"  said  little  Jacob  ;  "  I  can  run  faster 
than  she  can." 

The  parson  had  a  professional  disapproval  of  Dr.  Bardly 
because  he  would  not  come  to  church,  and  especially,  per- 
haps, because  on  the  very  rare  occasions  when  he  did  present 
himself  there,  he  always  contrived  to  be  called  out  in  time  to 
escape  the  sermon  ;  but  he  enjoyed  the  Doctor's  company 
more  than  he  would  have  been  willing  to  confess,  and  had 
warmly  seconded  Mrs.  Prigley's  proposal  that,  since  Mrs. 
Ogden,  in  consequence  of  her  accident,  was  supposed  to  need 
the  restoration  of  "  tea  and  something  to  it,"  the  Doctor 
should  stay  tea  also.  The  arrival  of  Isaac  and  Jacob  gave 
a  new  turn  to  the  matter,  and  promised  an  addition  to  the 
small  tea-party  already  organized. 

It  was  rather  stiff  and  awkward  just  at  first  for  Isaac  and 
Jacob  when  they  found  themselves  actually  in  the  parson's 
house,  and  forced  to  stop  there  to  tea  out  of  filial  attention  to 
their  mother  ;  but  it  is  wonderful  how  soon  Mr.  Prigley  con- 
trived to  get  them  over  these  difficulties.  He  resolved  to 
take  advantage  of  his  opportunity,  and  warm  up  an  acquaint- 
ance that  might  be  of  eminent  service  in  certain  secret 
projects  of  his.  Shayton  church  was  a  dreary  old  building  of 
the  latest  and  most  debased  Tudor  architecture;  and,  though 


Chap.  III.  At  the  Parso7ia^e.  21 


i> 


it  sheltered  the  inhabitants  well  enough  in  their  comfortable 
old  pews,  it  seemed  to  Mr.  Prigley  a  base  and  degraded  sort 
of  edifice,  unfit  for  the  celebration  of  public  worship.  He 
therefore  nourished  schemes  of  reform  ;  and  when  he  had 
nothing  particular  to  do,  especially  during  the  singing  of  the 
hymns,  he  could  not  help  looking  up  at  the  flat  ceiling  and 
down  along  the  pew-partitioned  floor,  and  thinking  what  might 
be  done  with  the  old  building,  —  how  it  would  look,  for 
instance,  if  those  octagon  pillars  that  supported  those  hateful 
longitudinal  beams  were  crowned  with  beautiful  Gothic  arches 
supporting  a  lofty  clerestory  above ;  and  how  the  organ, 
instead  of  standing  just  over  the  communion-table,  and  pre- 
venting the  possibility  of  a  creditable  east  window,  might  be 
removed  to  the  west  end,  to  the  inconvenience,  it  is  true,  of 
all  the  richest  people  in  the  township,  who  held  pews  in  a 
gallery  at  that  end  of  the  church,  but  to  the  general  advance- 
ment of  correct  and  orthodox  principles.  Once  the  organ 
removed,  a  magnificent  east  window  might  gleam  gorgeously 
over  the  renovated  altar,  and  Shayton  church  might  become 
worthy  of  its  incumbent. 

And  now,  as  he  saw,  by  unhoped-for  good-luck,  these  three 
rich  Ogdens  in  his  own  parlor,  it  became  Mr.  Prigley's 
earnest  wish  to  keep  them  there  as  long  as  possible,  and 
cultivate  their  acquaintance,  and  see  whether  there  was  not 
some  vulnerable  place  in  those  hard  practical  minds  of  theirs. 
As  for  the  Doctor,  he  scarcely  hoped  to  get  any  money  out 
of  him  ;  he  had  preached  at  him  over  and  over  again,  and, 
though  the  Doctor  only  laughed  and  took  care  to  keep  out 
of  the  way  of  these  sermons,  it  was  scarcely  to  be  expected 
that  he  should  render  good  for  evil,  — money  for  hard  lan- 
guage. Nobody  in  Shayton  precisely  knew  what  the  Doctor's 
opinions  were ;  but  when  Mr.  Prigley  was  writing  his  most 
energetic  onslaughts  on  the  infidel,  it  is  certain  that  the  type 
in  the  parson's  mind  had  the  Doctor's  portly  body  and  plain 
Socratic  face. 


2  2  Woiderholme.  Part  i 

Mrs.  Prigley  had  rather  hesitated  about  asking  the  man  to 
stay  tea  at  the  parsonage,  for  her  husband  freely  expressed 
his  opinion  of  him  in  privacy,  and  when  in  a  theological 
frame  of  mind  spoke  of  him  with  much  the  same  aversion  that 
Mrs.  Prigley  herself  felt  for  rats  and  toads  and  spiders.  And  as 
she  looked  upon  the  Doctor's  face,  it  seemed  to  her  at  first 
the  face  of  the  typical  "bad  man,"  in  whose  existence  she 
firmly  believed.  The  human  race,  at  the  parsonage,  was 
divided  into  sheep  and  goats,  and  Dr.  Bardly  was  amongst 
the  goats.  Was  he  not  evidently  a  goat?  Had  not  nature 
herself  stamped  his  badness  on  his  visage  I  His  very  way  of 
laughing  had  something  suspicious  about  it ;  he  seemed  always 
to  be  thinking  more  than  he  chose  to  express.  What  was  he 
thinking?  There  seemed  to  be  something  doubtful  and  wrong 
even  about  his  very  whiskers,  but  Mrs.  Prigley  could  not 
define  it,  neither  can  we.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  re- 
spectable and  very  commonplace  gray  whiskers,  shaped  like 
mutton-chops,  and  no  doubt  they  would  have  seemed  only 
natural  to  Mrs.  Prigley,  if  they  had  been  more  frequently 
seen  in  Shayton  church. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant-looking  tea-table  altogether.  Mrs. 
Prigley,  who  was  a  Miss  Stanburne  of  Byfield,  a  branch  of 
the  Stanburnes  of  Wenderholme,  possessed  a  little  ancestral 
plate,  a  remnant,  after  much  subdivision,  of  the  magnificence 
of  her  ancestors.  She  had  a  tea-pot  and  a  coffee-pot,  and  a 
very  quaint  and  curious  cream-jug ;  she  also  possessed  a  pair 
of  silver  candlesticks,  of  a  later  date,  representing  Corinthian 
columns,  and  the  candles  stood  in  round  holes  in  their  grace- 
ful acanthus-leaved  capitals.  Many  clergymen  can  display 
articles  of  contemporary  manufacture  bearing  the  most  flat- 
tering inscriptions,  but  Mr.  Prigley  had  never  received  any 
testimonials,  and,  so  long  as  he  remained  in  Shayton,  was  not 
in  the  least  likely  to  enrich  his  table  with  silver  of  that  kind. 
Mrs.  Prigley,  whilst  apparently  listening  with  respectful  at- 
tention  to  Mrs.  Ogden's   account  of  a  sick  cow  of  hers  (in 


Chap.  III.  At  the  Parso7iaze. 


<b 


23 


which  Mrs.  Ogden  seemed  to  consider  that  she  herself,  and 
not  the  suffering  animal,  was  the  proper  object  of  sympathy), 
had  in  fact  been  debating  in  her  own  mind  whether  she 
ought  to  display  her  plate  on  a  mere  chance  occasion  like  the 
present ;  but  the  common  metal  tea-pot  was  bulged  and  shabby, 
and  the  thistle  in  electro-plate,  which  had  once  decorated  its 
lid,  had  long  since  been  lost  by  one  of  the  children,  who  had 
fancied  it  as  a  plaything.  The  two  brass  candlesticks  were 
scarcely  more  presentable  ;  indeed,  one  of  them  would  no 
longer  stand  upright,  and  Mrs.  Prigley  had  neglected  to  have 
it  repaired,  as  one  candle  sufficed  in  ordinary  times  ;  and 
when  her  husband  wrote  at  night,  he  used  a  tin  bed-candle- 
stick resembling  a  frying-pan,  with  a  tin  column,  not  of  the 
Corinthian  order,  sticking  up  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  awk- 
wardly preventing  those  culinary  services  to  which  the  utensil 
seemed  naturally  destined.  As  these  things  were  not  pre- 
sentable before  company,  Mrs.  Prigley  decided  to  bring  forth 
her  silver,  but  in  justice  to  her  it  is  necessary  to  say  that  she 
would  have  preferred  something  between  the  two,  as  more 
fitted  to  the  occasion.  For  similar  reasons  was  displayed 
a  set  of  old  china,  of  whose  value  the  owner  herself  was 
ignorant ;  and  so  indeed  would  have  been  the  present  writer, 
if  he  had  not  recognized  Mrs.  Prigley's  old  cups  and  saucers 
in  Jacquemart's   '  Histoire  de  la  Porcelaine.' 

The  splendor  of  Mrs.  Prigley's  tea-table  struck  Mrs.  Ogden 
with  a  degree  of  surprise  which  she  had  not  art  enough  to 
conceal,  for  the  manners  and  customs  of  Shayton  had  never 
inculcated  any  kind  of  reticence  as  essential  to  the  ideal  of 
good-breeding.  The  guests  had  scarcely  taken  their  places 
round  this  brilliant  and  festive  board  when  Mrs.  Ogden  said,  — 

"  You  've  got  some  very  'afidsome  silver,  Mrs.  Prigley.  I  'd 
no  idea  you  'd  got  such  'andsome  silver.  Those  candlesticks 
are  taller  than  any  we  've  got  at  Milend." 

A  slight  shade  of  annoyance  passed  across  the  countenance 
of  the  hostess  as  she  answered,  "  It  came  from  Wenderholme  \ 


24  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

there  's  not  much  of  it  except  what  is  on  the  table  ;  there 
were  six  of  us  to  divide  it  amongst." 

"  Those  are  the  Stanburne  arms  on  the  tea-pot,"  said  the 
Doctor  ;  "  I  've  hoftens  noticed  them  at  Wendrum  'all.  They 
have  them  all  up  and  down.  Young  Stanburne  's  very  fond 
of  his  coat-of-arms,  but  he  's  a  right  to  be  proud  of  it,  for  it 's 
a  very  old  one.  He  's  quite  a  near  relation  of  yours,  isn't  he, 
Mrs.  Prigley.?" 

"  M)  father  and  his  grandfather  were  brothers,  but  there 
was  a  coolness  between  them  on  account  of  a  small  estate  in 
Yorkshire,  which  each  thought  he  'd  a  right  to,  and  they  had 
a  lawsuit.  My  father  lost  it,  and  never  went  to  Wenderholme 
again  ;  and  they  never  came  from  Wenderholme  to  Bytield. 
When  my  Uncle  Reginald  died,  my  father  was  not  even  asked 
to  the  funeral,  but  they  sent  him  gloves  and  a  hatband." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  at  Wenderholme,  Mrs.  Prigley  ? " 
said  Isaac. 

"Never!  I've  often  thought  I  should  like  to  see  it,  just 
once ;  it 's  said  to  be  a  beautiful  place,  and  I  should  like  to 
see  the  house  my  poor  father  was  born  in." 

"  Why,  it 's  quite  close  to  Shayton,  a  great  deal  nearer  than 
anybody  would  think.  It  isn't  much  more  than  twelve  or 
fourteen  miles  off,  and  my  house  at  Twistle  is  within  nine 
miles  of  Wenderholme,  if  you  go  across  the  moor.  There  is 
not  a  single  building  of  any  kind  between.  But  it 's  thirty 
miles  to  Wenderholme  by  the  turnpike.  You  have  to  go 
through  Sootythorn." 

"  It 's  a  very  nice  estate,"  said  Uncle  Jacob  ;  and,  to  do  him 
justice,  he  was  an  excellent  judge  of  estates,  and  possessed 
a  great  fund  of  information  concerning  all  the  desirable 
properties  in  the  neighborhood,  for  he  made  it  his  business 
to  acquire  this  sort  of  knowledge  beforehand,  in  case  such 
properties  should  fall  into  the  market.  So  that  when  Uncle 
Jacob  said  an  estate  was  "very  nice,"  you  may  be  sure  it 
was  so. 


Chap.  III.  At  the  Parsonage.  25 

"There  are  about  two  thousand  acres  of  good  land  at 
Wendrum,"  he  continued,  "  all  in  a  ring-fence,  and  a  very 
large  moor  behind  the  house,  with  the  best  shooting  any- 
where in  the  whole  country.  Our  moors  join  up  to  Mr. 
Stanburne's,  and,  if  the  whole  were  put  together,  it  would  be 
a  grand  shooting." 

"  That  is,"  said  Mr.  Prigley,  rather  maliciously,  "  if  Mr 
Stanburne  were  to  buy  your  moor,  I  suppose.  Perhaps  he 
might  feel  inclined  to  do  so  if  you  wished  to  sell." 

Mrs.  Ogden  could  not  endure  to  hear  of  selling  property, 
even  in  the  most  remote  and  hypothetical  manner.  Her 
back  was  generally  as  straight  as  a  stone  wall,  but  it  became, 
if  possible,  straighter  and  stifTer,  as,  with  a  slight  toss  of  the 
head,  she  spoke  as  follows  : — 

"We  don't  use  selling  property,  Mr.  Prigley;  we're  not 
sellers,  we  are  buyers." 

These  words  were  uttered  slowly,  deliberately,  and  with  the 
utmost  distinctness,  so  that  it  was  not  possible  for  any  one 
present  to  misunderstand  the  lady's  intention.  She  evidently 
considered  buying  to  be  the  nobler  function  of  the  two,  as 
implying  increase,  and  selling  to  be  a  comparatively  degrad- 
ing operation,  —  a  confession  of  poverty  and  embarrassment. 
This  feeling  was  very  strong,  not  only  in  Shayton,  but  for 
many  miles  round  it,  and  instances  frequently  occurred  of 
owners  who  clung  to  certain  properties  against  their  pecuniary 
interest,  from  a  dread  of  it  being  said  of  them  that  they  had 
sold  land.  There  are  countries  where  this  prejudice  has  no 
existence,  and  where  a  rich  man  sells  land  without  hesitation 
when  he  sees  a  more  desirable  investment  for  his  money ; 
but  in  Shayton  a  man  was  married  to  his  estate  or  his  estates 
(for  in  this  matter  polygamy  was  allowed) ;  and  though  the 
law,  after  a  certain  tedious  and  expensive  process,  technically 
called  conveyancing,  permitted  divorce,  public  opinion  did  not 
permit  it. 

Mr.  Prigley  restored  the  harmony  of  the  evening  by  admit- 


26  Wender holme.  part  i 

ting  that  the  people  who  sold  land  were  generally  the  old  land- 
owners, and  those  who  bought  it  were  usually  in  trade,  — > 
not  a  very  novel  or  profound  observation,  but  it  soothed  the 
wounded  pride  of  Mrs.  Ogden,  and  at  the  same  time  flattered 
a  shade  of  jealousy  of  the  old  aristocracy  which  coexisted 
with  much  genuine  sympathy  and  respect. 

"  But  we  shouldn't  say  Mister  Stanburne  now,"  observed 
the  Doctor  ;  "  he  's  Colonel  Stanburne." 

"Do  militia  officers  keep  their  titles  when  not  on  duty?" 
asked  Mr.  Isaac. 

"  Colonels  always  do,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  but  captains 
don't,  in  a  general  way,  though  there  are  some  places  where 
it  is  the  custom  to  call  'em  captain  all  the  year  round.  I 
suppose  Mr.  Isaac  here  will  be  Captain  Ogden  some  of  these 
days." 

"  I  was  not  aware  you  intended  to  join  the  militia,  Mr. 
Isaac,"  said  the  clergyman.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  It 
will  be  a  pleasant  change  for  you.  Since  you  left  business, 
you  must  often  be  at  a  loss  for  occupation." 

"  I  've  had  plenty  to  do  until  a  year  or  two  since  in  getting 
Twistle  Farm  into  order.  It 's  a  wild  place,  but  I  've  im- 
proved it  a  good  deal,  and  it  amused  me.  I  sometimes  wish 
it  were  all  to  be  done  over  again.  A  man  is  never  so  happy 
as  when  he  's  very  busy  about  carrying  out  his  own  plans." 

"You  made  a  fine  pond  there,  didn't  you?"  said  Mr. 
Prigley,  who  always  had  a  hankering  after  this  pond,  and 
was  resolved  to  improve  his  opportunity. 

"  Yes,  I  need  a  small  sheet  of  water.  It  is  of  use  to  me 
nearly  the  whole  year  round.  I  swim  in  it  in  summer,  I 
skate  on  it  in  winter,  and  in  the  spring  and  autumn  I  can 
sail  about  on  it  in  a  little  boat,  though  there  is  not  much 
room  for  tacking,  and  the  pond  is  too  much  in  a  hollow  to 
have  any  regular  wind." 

"  Ah  !  when  the  aquatic  passion  exists  in  any  strong  form," 
said  Mr.  Prigley,  "  it  will  have  its  exercise,  even  though  on  a 


Chap.  III.  At  the  Parsonage.  27 

small  scale.  One  of  the  great  privauous  ;o  me  m  Shayton 
is  that  I  never  get  any  swimming." 

"  My  pond  is  very  much  at  your  service,"  said  Mr.  Isaac, 
politely.  "I  am  sorry  that  it  is  so  fai  off,  but  one  cannot 
send  it  down  to  Shayton  in  a  cart,  as  one  might  send  a 
shower-bath." 

Mrs.  Ogden  was  much  pleased  to  see  her  scheme  realizing 
itself  so  naturally,  without  any  ingerence  of  her  own,  and 
only  regretted  that  it  was  not  the  height  of  summer,  in  order 
that  Mr.  Prigley  might  set  off  for  Twistle  Farm  the  very  next 
morning.  However  enthusiastic  he  might  be  about  swim- 
ming, he  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  explore  the  too  cool 
recesses  of  the  Twistle  pond  in  the  month  of  November,  — 
at  least  for  purposes  of  enjoyment;  and  Mrs.  Ogden  was 
not  Papist  enough  to  encourage  the  good  man  in  any  thing 
approaching  to  a  mortification  of  the  flesh. 

Little  Jacob  had  been  admitted  to  the  ceremony  of  tea,  and 
had  been  a  model  of  good  behavior,  being  "seen  and  not 
heard,"  which  in  Shayton  comprised  the  whole  code  of  eti- 
quette for  youth  when  in  the  presence  of  its  seniors  and 
superiors.  Luckily  for  our  young  friend,  he  sat  between  the 
Doctor  and  the  hostess,  who  took  such  good  care  of  him  that 
by  the  time  the  feast  was  over  he  was  aware,  by  certain  feel- 
ings of  tightness  and  distension  in  a  particular  region,  that 
the  necessities  of  nature  were  more  than  satisfied,  although, 
like  Vitellius,  he  had  still  quite  appetite  enough  for  another 
equally  copious  repast  if  only  he  had  known  where  to  put  it. 
If  Sancho  Panza  had  had  an  equally  indulgent  physician  at 
his  side,  one  of  the  best  scenes  in  Don  Quixote  could  never 
have  been  written,  for  Dr.  Bardly  never  hindered  his  little 
neighbor,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  actually  encouraged  him  to 
do  his  utmost,  and  mentally  amused  himself  by  enumerating 
the  pieces  of  tea-cake  and  buttered  toast,  and  the  helpings  to 
crab  and  potted  meat,  and  the  large  spoonfuls  of  raspberry- 
jam,  which  our  hero  silently  absorbed.    The  Doctor,  perhaps, 


28  Wendcrholme.  Part  i 

acted  faithfully  by  little  Jacob,  for  if  nature  had  not  intended 
boys  of  his  age  to  acomplish  prodigies  in  eating,  she  would 
surely  never  have  endowed  them  with  such  vast  desires  ;  and 
little  Jacob  suffered  no  worse  results  from  his  present  excesses 
than  the  uncomfortable  tightness  already  alluded  to,  which,  as 
his  vigorous  digestion  operated,  soon  gave  place  to  sensations 
of  comparative  elasticity  and  relief. 

The  parson's  children  had  not  been  admitted  to  witness 
and  partake  of  the  splendor  of  the  festival,  but  had  had  their 
own  tea  —  or  rather,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  their  meal  of 
porridge  and  milk  —  in  a  nursery  upstairs.  They  had  been 
accustomed  to  tea  in  the  evening,  but  of  late  the  oatmeal- 
porridge  which  had  always  been  their  breakfast  had  been 
repeated  at  tea-time  also,  as  the  Prigleys  found  themselves 
compelled  to  measures  of  still  stricter  economy.  People  must 
be  fond  of  oatmeal-porridge  to  eat  it  with  pleasure  seven  hun- 
dred times  a-year  ;  and  whenever  a  change  did  come,  the 
children  at  the  parsonage  relished  it  with  a  keenness  of 
gastronomic  enjoyment  which  the  most  refined  epicure  might 
envy,  and  which  he  probably  never  experienced.  There  were 
five  little  Prigleys,  and  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  parson's 
children  were  the  only  ones  in  the  whole  parish  that  did  not 
bear  Biblical  names.  All  the  other  households  in  Shayton 
sought  their  names  in  the  Old  Testament,  and  had  a  special 
predilection  for  the  most  ancient  and  patriarchal  ones  ;  but 
the  parson's  boys  were  called  Henry  and  William  and  Rich- 
ard, and  his  girls  Edith  and  Constance  —  not  one  of  which 
names  are  to  be  found  anywhere  in  Holy  Scripture,  either  in 
the  Old  Testament  or  the  New. 


Chap.  IV.   Isaac  Ogdeu  becomes  a  Backslider.         29 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ISAAC   OGDEN   BECOMES   A   BACKSLIDER. 

ABOUT  a  month  later  in  the  year,  when  December 
reigned  in  all  its  dreariness  over  Shayton,  and  the  wild 
moors  were  sprinkled  with  a  thin  scattering  of  snow,  little 
Jacob  began  to  be  very  miserable. 

His  grandmother  had  gone  to  stay  a  fortnight  with  some 
old  friends  of  hers  beyond  Manchester,  and  his  father  had 
declared  that  for  the  next  two  Sunda5'^s  he  should  remain  at 
Twistle,  and  not  "go  bothering  his  uncle  at  Milend."  Mr. 
Prigley  had  walked  up  to  the  farm,  and  kindly  offered  to 
receive  little  Jacob  at  the  parsonage  during  Mrs.  Ogden's 
absence ;  but  Mr.  Isaac  had  declined  the  proposal  rather 
curtly,  and,  as  Mr.  Prigley  thought,  in  a  manner  that  did  not 
sufficiently  acknowledge  the  kindness  of  his  intention.  In- 
deed, the  clergyman  had  not  been  quite  satisfied  with  his 
reception  ;  for  although  Mr.  Isaac  had  shown  him  the  pond, 
and  given  him  something  to  eat,  there  had  been,  Mr.  Prigley 
thought,  symptoms  of  secret  annoyance  or  suppressed  irrita- 
tion. Little  Jacob's  loneliness  was  rendered  still  more  com- 
plete by  the  continued  absence  of  his  friend  the  Doctor,  who, 
in  consequence  of  a  disease  then  very  prevalent  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, found  his  whole  time  absorbed  by  pressing  profes- 
sional duties,  so  that  the  claims  of  friendship,  and  even  the 
anxious  interest  which  he  took  in  Mr.  Isaac's  moral  and 
physical  condition,  had  for  the  time  to  be  considered  in  abey- 
ance. We  have  already  observed  that  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  of 
Milend  never  came  to  Twistle  Farm  at  all,  so  that  his  absence 


30  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

was  a  matter  of  course  ;  and  as  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
writing  any  letters  except  about  business,  there  was  an  entire 
cessation  of  intercourse  with  Milend. 

It  had  been  a  part  of  Mr.  Isaac's  plan  of  reformation  not 
to  keep  spirits  of  any  kind  at  the  farm,  but  he  had  quite 
enough  ale  and  wine  to  get  drunk  upon  in  case  his  resolution 
gave  way.  He  had  received  such  a  lecture  from  the  Doctor 
after  that  evening  at  the  parsonage  as  had  thoroughly  fright- 
ened him.  He  had  been  told,  with  the  most  serious  air  that 
a  doctor  knows  how  to  assume,  that  his  nervous  system  was 
already  shattered,  that  his  stomach  was  fast  becoming  worth- 
less, and  that,  if  he  continued  his  present  habits,  his  life  would 
terminate  in  eighteen  months.  Communications  of  this  kind 
are  never  agreeable,  but  they  are  especially  difficult  to  bear 
with  equanimity  when  the  object  of  them  has  lost  much  of 
the  combative  and  recuperative  powers  which  belong  to  a 
mind  in  health  ;  and  the  Doctor's  terrible  sermon  produced 
in  Mr.  Isaac  not  a  manly  strength  of  purpose  that  subdues 
and  surmounts  evil,  and  passes  victoriously  beyond  it,  but  an 
abject  terror  of  its  consequences,  and  especially  a  nervous 
dread  of  the  Red  Lion.  He  would  enter  that  place  no  more, 
he  was  firmly  resolved  upon  that.  He  would  stay  quietly  at 
Twistle  Farm  and  occupy  himself,  —  he  would  try  to  read,  — 
he  had  often  regretted  that  business  and  pleasure  had  together 
prevented  him  from  cultivating  his  mind  by  reading,  and  now 
that  the  opportunity  was  come,  he  would  seize  it  and  make 
the  most  of  it.  He  would  qualify  himself  to  direct  little 
Jacob's  studies,  at  least  so  far  as  English  literature  went.  As 
for  Latin,  the  little  he  ever  knew  had  been  forgotten  many 
years  ago,  but  he  might  learn  enough  to  judge  of  his  boy's 
progress,  and  perhaps  help  him  a  little.  He  knew  no  modern 
language,  and  had  not  even  that  pretension  to  read  French 
which  is  so  common  in  England,  and  which  is  more  injurious 
to  the  character  of  the  nation  than  perfect  ignorance,  whilst  it 
is  equally  unprofitable  to  its  intellect.     If  Mr.  Isaac  were  an 


CHAP.  IV.    Isaac  Ogden  becomes  a  Backslider.         3 1 

ignorant  man,  he  had  at  least  the  great  advantage  of  clearly 
knowing  that  he  was  so,  but  it  might  not  even  yet  be  too  late 
to  improve  himself.  Had  he  not  perfect  leisure  ?  could  he 
not  study  six  hours  a  day,  if  he  were  so  minded  ?  This  would 
be  better  than  destroying  himself  in  eighteen  months  in  the 
parlor  at  the  Red  Lion. 

There  were  not  many  books  at  Twistle,  but  there  were 
books.  Mr.  Isaac  differed  from  his  brother  Jacob,  and  from 
the  other  men  in  Shayton,  in  having  long  felt  a  hankering 
after  various  kinds  of  knowledge,  though  he  had  never  pos- 
sessed the  leisure  or  the  resolution  to  acquire  it.  There  was 
a  bookseller's  shop  in  St.  Ann's  Square,  in  Manchester,  which 
he  used  to  pass  when  he  was  in  the  cotton  business  on  his 
way  from  the  exchange  to  a  certain  oyster-shop  where  it  was 
his  custom  to  refresh  himself ;  and  he  had  been  occasionally 
tempted  to  make  purchases,  —  amongst  the  rest,  the  works  of 
Charles  Dickens  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  the  '  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica.'  He  had  also  bought  Macaulay's  '  History  of 
England,'  and  subscribed  to  a  library  edition  of  the  British 
poets  in  forty  volumes,  and  a  biographical  work  containing 
lives  of  eminent  Englishmen,  scarcely  less  voluminous. 
These,  with  several  minor  purchases,  constituted  the  whole 
collection,  —  which,  though  not  extensive,  had  hitherto  much 
more  than  sufficed  for  the  moderate  wants  of  its  possessor. 
He  had  read  all  the  works  of  Dickens,  having  been  enticed 
thereto  by  the  pleasant  merriment  in  '  Pickwick  ; '  but  the 
Waverley  Novels  had  proved  less  attractive,  and  the  forty 
volumes  of  British  poets  reposed  uncut  upon  the  shelf  which 
they  adorned.  Even  Macaulay's  History,  though  certainly 
not  less  readable  than  any  novel,  had  not  yet  been  honored 
with  a  first  perusal ;  and,  as  Mr.  Ogden  kept  his  books  in  a 
bookcase  with  glass  doors,  the  copy  was  still  technically  a 
new  one. 

He  resolved  now  that  all  these  books  should  be  read,  all 
except  perhaps  the  '  Encyclopedia  Britannica  ; '  for  Mr.  Ogden 


32  Wendei'holme.  Part  i 

was  not  then  aware  of  the  fact,  which  a  successful  man  has 
recently  communicated  to  his  species,  that  a  steady  reading 
of  that  work  according  to  its  alphabetical  arrangement  may 
be  a  road  to  fortune,  though  it  must  be  admitted  to  be  an  ar- 
duous one.  He  would  begin  with  Macaulay's  History ;  and 
he  did  begin  one  evening  in  the  parlor  at  Twistle  Farm  after 
Sarah  had  removed  the  tea-things.  He  took  down  the  first 
volume,  and  began  to  cut  the  leaves  ;  then  he  read  a  page  oi 
two,  but,  in  spite  of  the  lucid  and  engaging  style  of  the  his- 
torian, he  felt  a  difficulty  in  fixing  his  attention, — the  diffi- 
culty common  to  all  who  are  not  accustomed  to  reading,  and 
which  in  Mr.  Ogden's  case  was  perhaps  augmented  by  the 
peculiar  condition  of  his  nervous  system.  So  he  read  the 
page  over  again,  but  could  not  compel  his  mind  to  follow 
the  ideas  of  the  author:  it  would wz-ndex  to  matters  of  every- 
day interest  and  habit,  and  then  there  came  an  unutterable 
sense  of  blankness  and  dulness,  and  a  craving  —  yes,  an  all 
but  irresistible  craving  —  for  the  stimulus  of  drink.  There 
could  be  no  harm  in  drinking  a  glass  of  wine,  —  everybody, 
even  ladies,  might  do  that,  —  and  he  had  always  allowed  him- 
self wine  at  Twistle  Farm.  He  would  see  whether  there  was 
any  in  the  decanters.  What !  not  a  drop  ?  No  port  in  the 
port  decanter,  and  in  the  sherry  decanter  nothing  but  a  shal- 
low stratum  of  liquid  which  would  not  fill  a  glass,  and  was 
not  worth  drinking.  He  would  go  and  fill  both  decanters 
himself :  there  ought  always  to  be  wine  ready  in  case  any  one 
should  come.  Mr.  Prigley  might  walk  up  any  day,  or  the 
Doctor  might  come,  and  he  always  liked  a  glass  or  two  of 
port. 

There  was  a  nice  little  cellar  at  Twistle  Farm,  for  no  inhab- 
itant of  Shayton  ever  neglects  that  when  he  builds  himself 
a  new  house  ;  and  Mr.  Ogden  had  wine  in  it  to  the  value  of 
three  hundred  pounds.  Some  friends  of  his  near  Manches- 
ter, who  came  to  see  him  in  the  shooting  season  and  help  him 
to  kill  his  grouse,  were  connoisseurs  in  port,  and  he  had  been 


Chap.  IV.    Isaac  Ogden  becomes  a  Backslider.         33 

careful  to  "lay  down"  a  quantity  of  the  finest  he  could  get. 
He  was  less  delicate  in  the  gratification  of  his  own  palate, 
and  contented  himself  with  a  compound  of  no  particular 
vintage,  which  had  the  advantage  of  being  exceedingly  strong, 
and  therefore  allowed  a  sort  of  disguised  dram-drinking.  It 
need  therefore  excite  little  surprise  in  the  mind  of  the  reader 
to  be  informed  that,  when  Mr.  Isaac  had  drunk  a  few  glasses 
of  this  port  of  his,  the  ner\'ous  system  began  to  feel  more 
comfortable,  and  at  the  same  time  tempted  him  to  a  still 
warmer  appreciation  of  the  qualities  of  the  beverage.  His 
mind  was  clearer  and  brighter,  and  he  read  Macaulay  with  a 
sort  of  interest,  which,  perhaps,  is  as  much  as  most  authors 
may  hope  for  or  expect ;  that  is,  his  mind  kept  up  a  sort 
of  double  action,  following  the  words  of  the  historian,  and 
even  grasping  the  meaning  of  his  sentences,  and  feeling  their 
literary  power,  whilst  at  the  same  time  it  ran  upon  many 
subjects  of  personal  concern  which  could  not  be  altogether 
excluded  or  suppressed.  Mr.  Ogden  was  not  very  delicate 
in  any  of  his  tastes  ;  but  it  seemed  to  him,  nevertheless,  that 
clay  tobacco-pipes  consorted  better  with  gin-and-water  than 
with  the  juice  of  the  grape ;  and  he  took  from  a  cupboard 
in  the  corner  a  large  box  of  full-flavored  havannas,  which, 
like  the  expensive  port  in  the  cellar,  he  kept  for  the  gratifica- 
tion of  his  friends. 

Now,  although  the  first  five  or  six  glasses  had  indeed  done 
no  more  than  give  a  beneficial  stimulus  to  Mr.  Ogden's  brain, 
it  is  not  to  be  inferred,  as  Mr.  Ogden  himself  appeared  to 
infer,  that  the  continuation  of  the  process  would  be  equally 
salutary.  He  went  on,  however,  reading  and  sipping,  at  the 
late  of  about  a  glass  to  a  page,  smoking  at  the  same  time 
those  full-flavored  havannas,  till  after  eleven  at  night. 
Little  Jacob  and  the  servants  had  long  since  gone  to  bed  ; 
both  decanters  had  been  on  the  table  all  the  evening,  and 
both  had  been  in  equal  requisition,  for  Mr.  Ogden  had  been 
varying  his  pleasures  by  drinking  port  "and  sherry  alternately 


34  Wenderholmc.  Part  i 

At  'as*.  Jie  eloquence  of  Macaulay  became  no  longer  intelli- 
gible, for  though  his  sentences  had  no  doubt  been  constructed 
originally  in  a  perfectly  workmanlike  manner,  they  now 
seemed  quite  out  of  order,  and  no  longer  capable  of  holding 
together.  Mr.  Ogden  put  the  book  down  and  tried  to  read 
the  Manchester  paper,  but  the  makers  of  articles  and  the 
penny-a-liners  did  not  seem  to  have  succeeded  better  than 
Macaulay,  for  their  sentences  were  equally  disjointed.  The 
reader  rose  from  his  chair  in  some  discouragement  and  looked 
at  his  watch,  and  put  his  slippers  on,  and  began  to  think 
about  going  to  bed,  but  the  worst  of  it  was  he  felt  so  thirsty 
that  he  must  have  something  to  drink.  The  decanters  were 
empty,  and  wine  would  not  quench  thirst ;  a  glass  of  beer 
might,  perhaps  —  but  how  much  better  and  more  efficacious 
would  be  a  tall  glass  of  brandy-and-soda-water !  Alas  !  he 
had  no  brandy,  neither  had  he  any  soda-water,  at  least  he 
thought  not,  but  he  would  go  down  into  the  cellar  and  see. 
He  took  a  candle  very  deliberately,  and  walked  down  the 
cellar-steps  with  a  steady  tread,  never  staggering  or  swerving 
in  the  least.  "  Am  I  drunk  ? "  he  thought ;  "  no,  it  is  impos- 
sible that  I  should  be  drunk,  I  walk  so  well  and  so  steadily. 
I  'm  not  afraid  of  walking  down  these  stone  steps,  and  yet  if 
I  were  to  fall  I  might  hit  my  forehead  against  their  sharp 
edges,  sharp  edges  —  yes,  they  have  very  sharp  edges  ;  they 
are  ver}'  new  steps,  cut  by  masons  ;  and  so  are  these  walls 
new  —  good  ashlar  stones;  and  that  arched  roof  —  that  arch 
is  well  made :  there  isn't  a  better  cellar  in  Shayton." 

There  was  no  soda-water,  but  there  were  bottles  whose 
round,  swollen  knobs  of  corks  were  covered  with  silvery  foil, 
that  glittered  as  Mr.  Ogden's  candle  approached  them.  The 
glitter  caught  his  eye,  and  he  pulled  one  of  the  bottles  out. 
It  wasn't  exactly  soda-water,  but  it  would  fizz  ;  and  just  now 
Mr.  Ogden  had  a  morbid,  passionate  longing  for  something 
that  would  "fizz,"  as  he  expressed  it  in  his  muttered  soliloquy. 
So  he  marched  upstairs  with  his  prize,  in  that  stately  and 


Chav.  IV.   Isaac  Ogden  becomes  a  Backslider.  35 

deliberate  manner  which  marks  his  particular  stage  of  intoxi- 
cation. 

"  It 's  good  slekk  !  "  *  said  Mr.  Ogden,  as  he  swallowed  a 
tumblerful  of  the  sparkling  wine,  "  and  it  can  do  me  no  harm 
—  it's  only  a  lady's  wine."  He  held  it  up  between  his  eye 
and  the  candle,  and  thought  that  really  it  looked  very  nice 
and  pretty.  How  the  little  bubbles  kept  rising  and  spark- 
ling! how  very  clear  and  transparent  it  was!  Then  he  sat 
down  in  his  large  arm-chair,  and  thought  he  might  as  well 
have  another  cigar.  He  had  smoked  a  good  many  already, 
perhaps  it  would  be  better  not ;  and  whilst  his  mind  was  re- 
solving not  to  smoke  another,  his  fingers  were  fumbling  in 
the  box,  and  making  a  sort  of  pretence  at  selection.  At 
last,  for  some  reason  as  mysterious  as  that  which  decides  the 
famous  donkey  between  two  equidistant  haystacks,  the  lingers 
came  to  a  decision,  and  the  cigar,  after  the  point  had  been 
duly  amputated  with  a  penknife,  was  inserted  between  the 
teeth.  After  this  the  will  made  no  further  attempt  at  resist- 
ance, and  the  hand  poured  out  champagne  into  the  tumbler, 
and  carried  the  tumbler  to  the  lips,  with  unconscious  and  in- 
stinctive regularity. 

Mr.  Isaac  was  now  drunk,  but  it  was  not  yet  proved  to  him 
that  he  was  drunk.  His  expedition  to  the  cellar  had  been 
perfecdy  successful  ;  he  had  walked  in  the  most  unexcep- 
tionable manner,  and  even  descended  those  dangerous  stone 
steps.  He  looked  at  his  watch  —  it  was  half-past  twelve  ; 
he  read  the  hour  upon  the  dial,  though  not  just  at  first,  and 
he  replaced  the  watch  in  his  fob.  He  would  go  to  bed  —  it 
was  time  to  go  to  bed  ;  and  the  force  of  habits  acquired  at  the 
Red  Lion,  where  he  usually  went  to  bed  drunk  at  midnight, 
aided  him  in  this  resolution.  But  when  he  stood  upon  his  legs 
this  project  did  not  seem   quite  so  easy  of  realization  as  it 

*  Slake;  it  is  good  slake  —  it  slakes  thirst  well.  The  expression 
yras  actually  used  by  a  carter,  to  whom  a  gentleman  gave  champagne  in 
order  to  ask  his  opinion  of  the  beverage. 


36  Wenderhohne.  Pari  i. 

had  done  when  viewed  in  theory  from  the  arm-chair,  "  Go 
to  bed  !  "  said  Mr.  Isaac  ;  "  but  how  are  we  to  manage  it  ?  " 

There  were  two  candles  burning  on  the  table.  He  blew 
one  of  them  out,  and  took  the  other  in  his  hand.  He  took 
up  the  volume  of  Macaulay,  with  an  idea  that  it  ought  to  be 
put  somewhere,  but  his  mind  did  not  successfully  apply  itself 
to  the  solution  of  this  difficulty,  and  he  laid  the  book  down 
again  with  an  air  of  slight  disappointment,  and  a  certain 
sense  of  failure.  He  staggered  towards  the  doorway,  steadied 
himself  with  an  effort,  and  made  a  shot  at  it  with  triumphant 
success,  for  he  found  himself  now  in  the  little  entrance-hall. 
The  staircase  was  a  narrow  one,  and  closed  by  a  door,  and 
the  door  of  the  cellar  was  next  to  it.  Instead  of  taking  the 
door  that  led  up  to  his  bedroom,  Mr.  Ogden  took  that  of  the 
cellar,  descended  a  step  or  two,  discovered  his  mistake,  and, 
in  the  attempt  to  turn  round,  fell  backwards  heavily  down  the 
stone  stair,  and  lay  at  last  on  the  cold  pavement,  motionless, 
and  in  total  darkness. 

He  might  have  remained  there  all  night,  but  there  was  a 
sharp  little  Scotch  terrier  dog  that  belonged  to  little  Jacob, 
and  was  domiciled  in  a  snug  kennel  in  the  kitchen.  The 
watchful  animal  had  been  perfectly  aware  that  Mr.  Ogden 
was  crossing  the  entrance  on  his  way  to  his  bedroom,  but  if 
Feo  made  any  reflections  on  the  subject  they  were  probably 
confined  to  wonder  that  the  master  of  the  house  should  go 
to  bed  so  unusually  late.  When,  however,  the  heavy  thud  of 
Mr.  Ogden's  body  on  the  staircase  and  the  loud,  sharp  clatter 
of  the  falling  candlestick  came  simultaneously  to  her  ears, 
Feo  quitted  her  lair  at  a  bound,  and,  guided  by  her  sure 
scent,  was  down  in  the  dark  cellar  in  an  instant.  A  less 
intelligent  dog  than  Feorach  (for  that  was  her  Gaelic  name 
in  the  far  Highlands  where  she  was  born)  would  have  known 
that  something  was  wrong,  and  that  the  cold  floor  of  the 
cellar  was  not  a  suitable  bed  for  a  gentleman  ;  and  no  sooner 
had  Feorach  ascertained  the  state  of  affairs  than  she  rushed 
fo  the  upper  regions. 


Chap.  IV.  Isaac  Ogden  becomes  a  Backslider.         37 

Feorach  went  to  the  door  of  little  Jacob's  chamber,  and 
there  set  up  such  a  barking  and  scratching  as  awoke  even 
him  from  the  sound  sleep  of  childhood.  Old  Sarah  came 
into  the  passage  with  a  lighted  candle,  where  Jim  joined  her, 
rubbing  his  eyes,  still  heavy  with  interrupted  sleep.  "  There  's 
summat  wrong,"  said  old  Sarah  ;  "  I  'm  feared  there  's  sum- 
mat  wrong." 

"  Stop  you  here,"  said  Jim,  "  I  '11  wake  master  :  he  's  gotten 
loaded  pistols  in  his  room.  If  it 's  thieves,  it  willn't  do  to 
feis:ht  'em  wi'  talk  and  a  tallow  candle." 

Jim  knocked  at  his  master's  door,  and,  having  waited  in 
vain  a  second  or  two  for  an  answer,  determined  to  open  it. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  room,  and  the  bed  had  not  been 
slept  upon. 

"  Hod  thy  din,  dog,"  said  Jim  to  Feorach  ;  and  then,  with 
a  grave,  pale  face,  said,  "  It  isn't  thieves  ;  it 's  summat  'at 's 
happened  to  our  master." 

Now  Lancashire  people  of  the  class  to  which  Jim  and 
Sarah  belonged  never,  or  hardly  ever,  use  the  verb  to  die, 
but  in  the  place  of  it  employ  the  periphrase  of  something 
happening ;  and,  as  he  chanced  to  use  this  expression  now, 
the  idea  conveyed  to  Sarah's  mind  was  the  idea  of  death, 
and  she  believed  that  Jim  had  seen  a  corpse  in  the  room. 
He  perceived  this,  and  drew  her  away,  whispering,  "  He  isn't 
there  :  you  stop  wi'  little  Jacob."  So  the  man  took  the 
candle,  and  left  Sarah  in  the  dark  with  the  child,  both 
trembling  and  wondering. 

Feorach  led  Jim  down  into  the  cellar,  and  he  saw  the  dark 
inert  mass  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps.  A  chill  shudder 
seized  him  as  he  recognized  the  white,  inanimate  face.  One 
of  Mr.  Ogden's  hands  lay  upon  the  floor;  Jim  ventured  to 
touch  it,  and  found  it  deadly  cold.  A  little  blood  oozed  from 
the  back  of  the  head,  and  had  matted  the  abundant  brown 
hair.  Perhaps  the  hand  may  have  been  cold  simply  from 
contact  with  the  stone  flag,  but  Jim  did  not  reflect  about  this, 


437805 


38  Wcnderliolme.  Part  i. 

and  concluded  that  Mr.  Ogden  was  dead.  He  went  hastily 
back  to  old  Sarah.  "  Master  Jacob,"  he  said,  "  you  must  go 
to  bed." 

"  No,  I  won't  go  to  bed,  Jim  !  " 

"  My  lad,"  said  old  Sarah,  "just  come  into  your  room,  and 
I  '11  light  you  a  candle."  So  she  lighted  a  candle,  and  then 
left  the  child,  and  Jim  quietly  locked  the  door  upon  him. 
The  lock  was  well  oiled,  and  Jacob  did  not  know  that  he 
was  a  prisoner. 

"  Now  what  is  't? "  said  old  Sarah,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Master  's  deead :  he  's  fallen  down  th'  cellar-steps  and 
killed  hisself." 

Old  Sarah  had  been  fully  prepared  for  some  terrible  com- 
munication of  this  kind,  and  did  not  utter  a  syllable.  She 
simply  followed  the  man,  and  between  them  they  lifted  Mr. 
Ogden,  and  carried  him,  not  without  difficulty,  up  the  cellar- 
steps.  Sarah  carried  the  head,  and  Jim  the  legs  and  feet, 
and  old  Sarah's  bed-gown  was  stained  with  a  broad  patch  ol 
blood. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  serious  inconveniences  attending  a 
residence  in  the  country  that  on  occasions  of  emergency  it 
is  not  possible  to  procure  prompt  medical  help  ;  and  Twistle 
Farm  was  one  of  those  places  where  this  inconvenience  is 
felt  to  the  uttermost.  When  they  had  got  Mr.  Ogden  on  the 
bed,  Jim  said,  "I  mun  go  an'  fetch  Dr.  Bardly,  though  I 
reckon  it 's  o'  no  use  ; "  and  he  left  Sarah  alone  with  the 
body. 

The  poor  woman  anticipated  nothing  but  a  dreary  watch 
of  several  hours  by  the  side  of  a  corpse,  and  went  and 
dressed  herself,  and  lighted  a  fire  in  Mr.  Ogden's  100m. 
Old  Sarah  was  not  by  any  means  a  woman  of  a  pusillani- 
mous disposition  ;  but  it  may  be  doubted  whether,  if  she  had 
had  any  choice  in  the  matter,  a  solitary  watch  of  this  kind 
would  have  been  exactly  to  her  taste.  However,  when  the 
fire  was  burning  briskly,  she  drew  a  rocking-chair  up  to  it, 


Chap.  IV.   Isaac  Ogdeu  becojnes  a  Backslider.         39 

and,  in  order  to  keep  up  her  courage  through  the  remauider 
of  the  night,  fetched  a  certain  physic-bottle  from  the  kitchen, 
and  her  heavy  lead  tobacco-pot,  for  like  many  old  women 
about  Shayton  she  enjoyed  the  solace  of  a  pipe.  She  did 
not  attempt  to  lay  out  the  body,  being  under  the  impression 
that  the  coroner  might  be  angry  with  her  for  having  done  so 
when  the  inquest  came  to  be  held. 

The  physic-bottle  was  full  of  rum,  and  Sarah  made  herself 
a  glass  of  grog,  and  lighted  her  pipe,  and  looked  into  the 
fire.  She  had  drawn  the  curtains  all  round  Mr.  Ogden's 
bed  ;  ample  curtains  of  pale-brown  damask,  with  an  elabo- 
rate looped  valance,  from  whose  deep  festoons  hung  multi- 
tudes of  little  pendants  of  turned  wood  covered  with  flossy 
silk.  The  movement  communicated  to  these  pendants  by 
the  act  of  drawing  the  curtains  lasted  a  very  long  time,  and 
Sarah  was  startled  more  than  once  when  on  looking  round 
from  her  arm-chair  she  saw  them  swinging  and  knocking 
against  each  other  still.  As  soon  as  the  first  shock  of  alarm 
was  past,  the  softer  emotions  claimed  their  turn,  and  the  old 
woman  began  to  cry,  repeating  to  herself  incessantly,  "  And 
quite  yoong  too,  quite  yoong,  quite  a  yoong  man  1  " 

Suddenly  she  was  aware  of  a  movement  in  the  room. 
Was  it  the  little  dog  ?  No  ;  Feorach  had  elected  to  stay 
with  his  young  master,  and  both  little  Jacob  and  his  dog 
were  fast  asleep  in  another  room.  She  ventured  to  look  at 
the  great  awful  curtained  bed.  The  multitudinous  pendants 
had  not  ceased  to  swing  and  vibrate,  and  yet  it  was  now  a 
long  time  since  Sarah  had  touched  the  curtains.  She  wished 
they  would  give  up  and  be  still  ;  but  whilst  she  was  looking 
at  them  and  thinking  this,  a  little  sharp  shock  ran  round  the 
whole  valance,  and  the  pendants  rattled  against  each  other 
with  the  low  dull  sound  which  was  all  that  their  muffling  of 
silk  permitted;  a  low  sound,  but  an  audible  one,  —  audible 
especially  to  ears  in  high  excitement ;  a  stronger  shock,  a 
visible  agitation,  not  only  of   the  tremulous  pendants,   but 


40 


Wenderholme.  Part  i 


even  of  the  heavy  curtain-folds  themselves.  Then  they  open, 
and  Mr.  Ogden's  pale  face  appears. 

"  Well,  Sarah,  I  hope  you  've  made  yourself  comfortable, 
you  damned  old  rum-drinking  thief !  D'ye  think  I  can't 
smell  rum  t     Give  me  that  bottle." 

Sarah  was  much  too  agitated  to  say  or  do  any  thing  what- 
ever. She  had  risen  from  her  chair,  and  stood  looking  at 
the  bed  in  speechless  amazement.  Mr.  Ogden  got  up,  and 
walked  towards  the  fire  with  an  unsteady  pace.  Then  he 
possessed  himself  of  the  rum-botde,  and,  putting  it  to  his  lips, 
began  to  swallow  the  contents.   This  brought  Sarah  to  herself. 

"Nay,  nay,  master:  you  said  as  you  wouldn't  drink  no 
sperrits  at  Twistle  Farm  upo'  no  'count." 

But  the  rum  had  been  tasted,  and  the  resolution  broken. 
It  had  been  broken  before  as  to  the  intention  and  meaning 
of  it,  and  was  now  broken  even  as  to  the  letter.  Isaac 
Ogden  had  got  drunk  at  Twistle  Farm  ;  and  now  he  was 
drinking  spirits  there,  not  even  diluting  them  with  water. 

After  emptying  old  Sarah's  bottle,  which  fortunately  did 
not  contain  enough  to  endanger,  for  the  present,  his  existence, 
Mr.  Ogden  staggered  back  to  his  bed,  and  fell  into  a  drunken 
sleep,  which  lasted  until  Dr.  Bardly's  arrival.  The  Doctor 
found  the  wound  at  the  back  of  the  head  exceedingly  slight ; 
there  was  abrasure  of  the  skin  and  a  swelling,  but  nothing 
more.  The  blood  had  ceased  to  flow  soon  after  the  accident ; 
and  there  would  be  no  worse  results  from  it  than  the  tempo- 
rary insensibility,  from  which  the  patient  had  already  recovered. 
The  most  serious  results  of  what  had  passed  were  likely,  for 
the  present,  to  be  rather  moral  than  physical.  Dr.  Bardly 
greatly  dreaded  the  moral  depression  which  must  result  from 
the  breaking  down  of  the  only  resolution  which  stood  between 
his  friend  and  an  utter  abandonment  to  his  propensity. 
Twistle  Farm  would  no  longer  be  a  refuge  for  him  against 
the  demon,  for  the  demon  had  been  admitted,  had  crossed 
the  threshold,  had  taken  possession. 


«jHAi'.  IV.  Isaac  Ogden  becomes  a  Backslider.         41 

Mr.  Ogden  was  not  in  a  condition  to  be  advised,  for  he 
was  not  yet  sober,  and,  if  he  had  been,  the  Doctor  felt  that 
advice  was  not  likely  to  be  of  any  use  :  he  had  given  enough 
of  it  already.  The  parson  might  try,  if  he  liked,  but  it  seemed 
to  the  Doctor  that  the  case  had  now  become  one  of  those 
incurable  cases  which  yield  neither  to  the  desire  of  self- 
preservation  nor  to  the  fear  of  hell ;  and  that  if  the  warnings 
of  science  were  disregarded  by  a  man  intelligent  enough  to  ap- 
preciate the  certainty  of  the  data  on  which  they  were  founded, 
those  of  religion  were  not  likely  to  have  better  success. 


42  WenderJiolme.  tart  i. 


CHAPTER   V. 

FATHER   AND   SON. 

MR.  OGDEN  came  downstairs  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
and  ordered  breakfast  and  dinner  in  one  meal.  He 
asked  especially  for  Sarah's  small-beer,  and  drank  two  or  three 
large  glasses  of  it.  He  did  not  eat  much,  and  used  an  unusual 
quantity  of  pepper.  He  was  extremely  taciturn,  contrarily  to 
his  ordinary  habit,  for  he  commonly  talked  very  freely  with 
old  Sarah  whilst  she  served  him.  When  his  repast  was  fin- 
ished, he  expressed  a  wish  to  see  little  Jacob. 

'•'  Good  morning,  papa !  I  hope  you  are  better.  Sarah 
says  you  were  poorly  last  night  when  Feorach  barked  so." 

"  Oh,  she  says  I  was  poorly,  does  she  ?  Then  she  lies  :  I 
wasn't  poorly,  —  I  was  drunk.     I  want  you  to  read  to  me." 

"  Must  I  read  in  that  book  Mr.  Prigley  gave  me  when  he 
came  ? " 

"  Read  what  you  please." 

So  little  Jacob  opened  for  the  first  time  a  certain  volume 

which  will  be  recognized  by  every  reader  when  he  begins  :  — 

"  '  The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold, 
The  minstrel  was  infirm  and  old.'  " 

"  That  would  be  difficult,"  said  Mr.  Ogden. 

"What,  papa?" 

"  I  say,  it  would  be  difficult." 

Little  Jacob  felt  rather  frightened.  He  did  not  understand 
in  what  the  supposed  difficulty  consisted,  and  yet  felt  that  he 
was  expected  to  understand  it.  He  did  not  dare  to  ask  a 
second  time  for  enlightenment  on  the  point,  so  he  stood  quite 


Chap.  V.  Father  and  Son. 


43 


still  and  said  nothing.     His  father  waited  a  minute  in  perfect 
silence,  and  then  burst  out,  — 

"  Why,  you  little  confounded  blockhead,  I  mean  that  it 
would  be  difficult  for  a  man  to  be  infirm  and  bold  at  the  same 
time  !     Infirm  people  are  timid,  commonly." 

"Please,  papa,  it  doesn't  say  infirm  and  bold — it  says 
infirm  and  old  —  see,  papa;"  and  little  Jacob  pointed  with 
his  finger  to  the  place. 

"Then  you  read  damned  badly,  for  you  read  it  'bold,'  and 
it  's  '  old.'  I  expect  you  to  read  better  than  that  —  you  read 
badly,  damned  badly." 

"  Please,  papa,  I  read  it  *  old '  the  first  time,  and  not 
'  bold.'  " 

"  Then  you  mean  to  say  I  cannot  trust  my  own  ears,  you 
little  impertinent  monkey.  I  say  you  read  it  '  bold,'  and  I 
heard  you." 

An  elder  person  would  have  perceived  that  Mr.  Ogden  was 
ill,  and  humored  him ;  and  a  child  of  a  more  yielding  dispo- 
sition would  have  submitted  to  the  injustice,  and  acquiesced. 
But  little  Jacob  had  an  instinctive  hatred  of  injustice,  and  his 
whole  nature  rose  in  revolt.  He  had  also  made  up  his  mind 
never  to  tell  lies  —  less  perhaps  from  principle  than  from  a 
feeling  that  it  was  cowardly.  The  present  was  an  occasion 
which  roused  these  feelings  in  all  their  energy.  He  was  re- 
quired to  utter  a  falsehood,  and  submit  to  an  injustice. 

"  No,  papa,  I  said  '  old.'  I  didn't  say  '  bold  '  at  all.  It 
was  you  that  heard  wrong." 

Mr.  Ogden  became  white  with  anger.  "  Oh,  /  was  mis- 
taken, was  I  ?     Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  am  deaf  ?  " 

"  No,  papa." 

"  Well,  then,  if  I  'm  not  deaf  I  have  been  lying.  I  am  a 
liar,  am  I  ?  " 

The  state  of  extreme  nervous  depression,  in  combination 
with  irritability,  under  which  Mr.  Ogden's  system  was  labor- 
ing that  day,  made  him  a  dangerous  man  to  contradict,  and 


44  Weitderholme.  Part  i 

not  by  any  means  a  pleasant  antagonist  in  argument.  But  he 
was  not  altogether  lost ;  he  still  kept  some  control  over  him- 
self, in  proof  of  which  may  be  mentioned  the  fact  that  he 
simply  dismissed  little  Jacob  without  even  a  box  on  the  ear. 
"  He  deserves  a  good  thrashing,"  said  Mr.  Ogden  ;  "  but  if 
I  were  to  begin  with  him  I  should  nearly  kill  him,  the  little 
impudent  scoundrel  !  " 

The  afternoon  was  exceedingly  dull  and  disagreeable  to 
Mr.  Ogden.  He  walked  out  into  his  fields  and  round  the 
pond.  He  had  made  a  small  footpath  for  his  walks,  which, 
after  leaving  the  front-door  first,  went  all  round  the  pond, 
and  then  up  to  the  rocks  that  overlooked  the  little  valley,  and 
from  which  he  enjoyed  a  very  extensive  view.  There  were 
several  springs  in  the  little  hollow,  but  before  Mr.  Ogden's 
settlement  they  had  contented  themselves  with  creating  those 
patches  of  that  emerald  grass,  set  in  dark  heather,  which  are 
so  preciously  beautiful  in  the  scenery  of  the  moors.  At  each 
of  these  springs  Mr.  Ogden  had  made  a  circular  stone-basin, 
with  a  water-duct  to  his  pond,  and  it  was  his  fancy  to  visit 
these  basins  rather  frequently  to  see  that  they  were  kept  clean 
and  in  order.  He  did  so  this  afternoon,  from  habit,  and  by 
the  time  he  had  finished  his  round  it  was  nearly  dark. 

He  was  intensely  miserable.  Twistle  Farm  had  been  sweet 
and  dear  to  him  because  he  had  jealously  guarded  the  purity 
of  the  associations  that  belonged  to  it.  Neither  in  the  house 
nor  in  the  little  undulating  fields  that  he  had  made  was  there 
a  single  object  to  remind  him  of  his  weakness  and  his  sin, 
and  therefore  the  place  had  been  a  refuge  and  a  sanctuary. 
It  could  never  again  be  for  him  what  it  had  been  ;  this  last 
lamentable  failure  had  broken  down  the  moral  defences  of 
his  home,  and  invaded  it  and  contaminated  it  for  ever.  What- 
ever the  future  might  bring,  the  event  of  the  past  night  was 
irrevocable;  he  had  besotted  himself  with  drink;  he  had 
brought  the  miie  of  the  outer  world  into  his  pure  dwelling, 
and  defiled  it.     Isaac  Ogden  fell  this  tlie  more  painfully  that 


CuAP.  V.  Father  ajzd  So?^.  45 

he  had  little  of  the  support  of  religion,  and  few  of  the  con- 
solations and  encouragements  of  philosophy.  A  religious 
mind  would  have  acknowledged  its  weakness  and  repented 
of  its  sin,  yet  in  the  depths  of  its  humiliation  hoped  still  for 
strength  from  above,  and  looked  and  prayed  for  ultimate 
deliverance  and  peace.  A  philosophic  mind  would  have  re- 
flected that  moral  effort  is  not  to  be  abandoned  for  a  single 
relapse,  or  even  for  many  relapses,  and  would  have  addressed 
itself  only  the  more  earnestly  to  the  task  of  self-reformation 
that  the  need  for  effort  had  made  itself  so  strikingly  appare.it. 
But  Mr.  Ogden  had  neither  the  faith  which  throws  itself  on 
the  support  of  Heaven,  nor  the  faculty  of  judging  of  his  own 
actions  with  the  impartiality  of  the  independent  intellect. 
He  was  simply  a  man  of  the  world,  so  far  as  such  a  place  as 
Shayton  could  develop  a  man  of  the  world,  and  had  neither 
religious  faith  nor  intellectual  culture.  Therefore  his  misery 
was  the  greater  for  the  density  of  the  darkness  in  which  he 
had  stumbled  and  fallen.  What  he  needed  was  light  of  some 
sort ;  either  the  beautiful  old  lamp  of  faith,  with  its  wealth  of 
elaborate  imagery,  or  the  plainer  but  still  bright  and  service- 
able gas-light  of  modern  thouglit  and  science.  Mr.  Prigley 
possessed  the  one,  and  the  Doctor  gave  his  best  labor  to 
the  maintenance  of  the  other ;  but  Mr.  Ogden  was  unfortu- 
nate in  not  being  able  to  profit  by  the  help  which  either  of 
these  friends  would  have  so  willingly  afforded. 

No  one  except  Dr.  Bardly  had  suspected  the  deplorable 
fact  that  Mr.  Ogden  was  no  longer  in  a  state  of  mental  sanity. 
The  little  incident  just  narrated,  in  which  he  had  mistaken 
one  word  for  another,  and  insisted,  with  irritation,  that  the 
error  did  not  lie  with  him,  had  been  a  common  one  during 
the  last  few  weeks,  whenever  little  Jacob  read  to  him.  If 
our  little  friend  had  communicated  his  sorrows  to  the  Doctor, 
this  fact  would  have  been  a  very  valuable  one  as  evidence  of 
his  father's  condition  ;  but  he  never  mentioned  it  to  any  one 
except  his  grandmother  and  old  Sarah,  who  both  inferred  that 


46  JVeftderkolme.  Pakt  i, 

the  child  had  read  inaccurately,  and  saw  no  reason  to  suspect 
the  justice  of  Mr.  Ogden's  criticism.  The  truth  was,  that  by 
a  confusion  very  common  in  certain  forms  of  brain-disease,  a 
sound  often  suggested  to  Mr.  Ogden  some  other  sound  re- 
sembling it,  or  of  which  it  formed  a  part,  and  the  mere  sug- 
gestion became  to  him  quite  as  much  a  fact  as  if  he  had 
heard  it  with  his  bodily  ears.  Thus,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
word  "  old  "  had  suggested  "  bold  ; "  and  when,  as  in  that 
instance,  the  imagined  word  did  not  fit  in  very  naturally  with 
the  sense  of  the  passage,  Mr.  Ogden  attributed  the  fault  to 
little  Jacob's  supposed  inaccuracy  in  reading.  Indeed  he 
had  now  a  settled  conviction  that  his  son  was  unpardonably 
careless,  and  no  sooner  did  the  child  open  his  book  to  read, 
than  his  father  became  morbidly  expectant  of  some  absurd 
mistake,  which,  of  course,  never  failed  to  arrive,  and  to  give 
occasion  for  the  bitterest  reproaches. 

On  his  return  to  the  house  Mr.  Ogden  desired  his  son's 
attendance,  and  requested  him  to  resume  his  reading.  Little 
Jacob  took  up  his  book  again,  and  this  time,  as  it  happened, 
Mr.  Ogden  heard  the  second  line  correctly,  and  expressed  his 
satisfaction.     But  in  the  very  next  couplet  — 

"  His  withered  cheek  and  tresses  gray 
Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day  "  — 

Mr.  Ogden  found  means  to  imagine  another  error.  "  It 
seems  to  me  curious,"  said  he,  "  that  Scott  should  have  de- 
scribed the  minstrel  as  having  a  '  withered  cheek  and  tresses 
gay  ; '  there  could  be  little  gayety  about  him,  I  should  imagine." 

"  Please,  papa,  it  isn't  gay,  but  gray." 

"  Then  why  the  devil  do  you  read  so  incorrectly  ?  I  have 
always  to  be  scolding  you  for  making  these  absurd  mistakes  I  " 

If  little  Jacob  had  had  an  older  head  on  his  shoulders  he 
would  have  acquiesced,  and  tried  to  get  done  with  the  read- 
ing as  soion  as  possible,  so  as  to  make  his  escape.  But  it  was 
repugnant  to  him  to  admit  that  he  had  made  a  blunder  of 
which  he  was  innocent,  and  he  answered, — 


Chap.  V.  Father  and  Son. 


47 


"  But,  papa,  I  read  it  right  —  I  said  gray;  I  didn't  say^<^;'." 

Mr.  Ogden  made  a  violent  effort  to  control  himself,  and 
said,  with  the  sort  of  calm  that  comes  of  the  intensest  emo- 
tion, — 

"  Then  you  mean  to  say  I  am  deaf." 

Little  Jacob  had  really  been  thinking  that  his  father  might 
be  deaf,  and  admitted  as  much. 

"  Fetch  me  my  riding-whip." 

Litde  Jacob  brought  the  whip,  expecting  an  immediate  ap- 
plication of  it,  but  Mr.  Ogden,  still  keeping  a  strong  control 
over  himself,  merely  took  the  whip  in  his  hands,  and  began 
to  play  with  it,  and  look  at  its  silver  top,  which  he  rubbed  a 
little  with  his  pocket-handkerchief.  Then  he  took  a  candle 
in  his  right  hand,  and  brought  the  flame  quite  close  to  the 
silver  ornament,  examining  it  with  singular  minuteness,  so  as 
.apparently  to  have  entirely  ceased  to  pay  attention  to  his 
son's  reading,  or  even  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

"  Is  this  my  whip  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa." 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  either  blind  or  I  have  lost  my  memory. 
My  whip  was  precisely  like  this,  except  for  one  thing  —  my 
initials  were  engraved  upon  it,  and  I  can  see  no  initials  here." 

Little  Jacob  began  to  feel  very  nervous.  A  month  before 
the  present  crisis  he  had  taken  his  father's  whip  to  ride  with, 
and  lost  it  on  the  moor,  after  dark,  where  he  and  Jim  had 
sought  for  it  long  and  vainly.  Litde  Jacob  had  since  con- 
sulted a  certain  saddler  in  Shayton,  a  friend  of  his,  as  to  the 
possibility  of  procuring  a  whip  of  the  same  pattern  as  the 
lost  one,  and  it  had  fortunately  happened  that  this  saddler 
had  received  two  precisely  alike,  of  which  Mr.  Isaac  Ogden 
had  bought  one,  whilst  the  other  remained  unsold.  There 
was  thus  no  difficulty  in  replacing  the  whip  so  as  to  deceive 
Mr.  Ogden  into  the  belief  that  it  had  never  been  lost,  or 
rather  so  as  to  prevent  any  thought  or  suspicion  from  pre- 
senting itself  to  his  mind.     When  the  master  of  a  house  has 


48  VVenderJiolme.  Pari-  r. 

given  proofs  of  a  tyrannical  disposition,  or  of  an  uncontrol- 
lable and  unreasonable  temper,  a  system  of  concealment 
naturally  becomes  habitual  in  his  household,  and  the  most 
innocent  actions  are  hidden  from  him  as  if  they  were  crimes. 
Some  trifling  incident  reveals  to  him  how  sedulously  he  is 
kept  in  ignorance  of  the  little  occurrences  which  make  up  the 
existence  of  his  dependants,  and  then  he  is  vexed  to  find  him- 
self isolated  and  cut  off  from  their  confidence  and  sympathy. 

Mr.  Ogden  continued.  "This  is  not  my  whip  ;  it  is  a  whip 
of  the  same  pattern,  that  some  people  have  been  buying  to 
take  me  in.  Fetch  me  my  own  whip  —  the  one  with  my 
initials." 

Little  Jacob  thought  the  opportunity  for  escaping  from  the 
room  too  good  to  be  thrown  away,  and  vanished.  Mr.  Ogden 
waited  quietly  at  first,  but,  after  ten  minutes  had  escaped, 
became  impatient,  and  rang  the  bell  violently.  Old  Sarah 
presented  herself. 

"  Send  my  son  here." 

On  his  reappearance,  little  Jacob  was  in  that  miserable 
state  of  apprehension  in  which  the  most  truthful  child  will  lie 
if  it  is  in  the  least  bullied  or  tormented,  and  in  which  indeed 
it  is  not  possible  to  extract  pure  truth  from  its  lips  without  great 
delicacy  and  tenderness. 

"  Have  you  brought  my  whip  ? " 

"  Please,  papa,"  said  little  Jacob,  who  began  to  get  very  red 
in  the  face,  as  he  always  did  when  he  told  a  downright  fib  — 
"please,  papa,  that's  your  whip."  There  was  a  mental  reser- 
vation here,  slightly  Jesuitical ;  for  the  boy  had  reflected, 
during  his  brief  absence,  that  since  he  had  given  that  whip  to 
Mr.  Ogden,  it  now,  of  course,  might  strictly  be  said  to  belong 
to  him. 

"What  has  become  of  my  whip  with  I.  O.  upon  it.?  " 

"  It  's  that  whip,  papa;  only  you  —  you  told  Jim  to  clean 
the  silver  top,  and  —  and  perhaps  he  rubbed  the  letters  off." 

"You  damned  little  lying  sneaking  scoundrel,  this  whip  is 


Chap,  V.  Father  mid  Son. 


49 


perfectly  new;  but  it  will  not  be  new  long,  for  I  will  lay  it 
about  you  till  it  isn't  worth  twopence." 

The  sharp  switching  strokes  fell  fast  on  poor  little  Jacob. 
Some  of  them  caught  him  on  the  hands,  and  a  tremendous 
one  came  with  stinging  effect  across  his  lips  and  cheek  ;  but 
it  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  endured  an  infliction  of  this 
sort,  and  he  had  learned  the  art  of  presenting  his  body  so  as 
to  shield  the  more  sensitive  or  least  protected  places.  On 
former  occasions  Mr.  Ogden's  anger  had  always  cooled  after 
a  score  or  two  of  lashes,  but  this  time  it  rose  and  rose  with 
an  ever-increasing  violence.  Little  Jacob  began  to  find  his 
powers  of  endurance  exhausted,  and,  with  the  nimble  ingenu- 
ity of  his  years,  made  use  of  different  articles  of  furniture  as 
temporary  barriers  against  his  enemy.  For  some  time  he 
managed  to  keep  the  table  between  Mr.  Ogden  and  himself, 
but  his  father's  arm  was  long,  and  reached  far,  and  the  child 
received  some  smarting  cuts  about  the  face  and  neck,  so  then 
he  tried  the  chairs.  Mr.  Ogden,  who  was  by  this  time  a  furi- 
ous madman,  shivered  his  whip  to  pieces  against  the  furniture, 
and  then,  throwing  it  with  a  curse  into  the  fire,  looked  about 
him  for  some  other  means  of  chastisement.  Now  there  hung 
a  mighty  old  hunting-whip  in  a  sort  of  trophy  with  other 
memorials  of  the  chase,  and  he  took  this  down  in  triumph. 
The  long  knotted  lash  swung  heavily  as  he  poised  it,  and 
there  was  a  steel  hammer  at  the  end  of  the  stick,  considered 
as  of  possible  utility  in  replacing  lost  nails  in  the  shoes  of 
hunters. 

A  great  terror  seized  little  Jacob,  a  terror  of  that  utterly 
hopeless  and  boundless  and  unreasoning  kind  that  will  some- 
times take  possession  of  the  nervous  system  of  a  child  —  a 
terror  such  as  the  mature  man  does  not  feel  even  before 
imminent  and  violent  death,  and  which  he  can  only  conceive 
or  imagine  by  a  reference  to  the  dim  reminiscences  of  his 
infancy.  The  strong  man  standing  there  menacing,  armed 
with  a  whip  like  a  flail,  his  eyes  glaring  with  the  new  and 

4 


50  Wender holme.  part  i. 

baleful  light  of  madness,  became  transfigured  in  the  child's 
imagination  to  something  supernatural.  How  tall  he  seemed, 
how  mighty,  how  utterly  irresistible  !  When  a  Persian  trav- 
els alone  in  some  wide  stony  desert,  and  sees  a  column  of  dust 
rise  like  smoke  out  of  the  plain  and  advance  rapidly  towards 
him,  and  believes  that  out  of  the  column  one  of  the  malignant 
genii  will  lift  his  colossal  height,  and  roll  his  voice  of  thunder, 
and  wield  his  sword  of  flame,  all  that  that  Persian  dreads  in 
the  utmost  wildness  of  his  credulous  Oriental  imagination  this 
child  felt  as  a  present  and  visible  fact.  The  Power  before 
him,  in  the  full  might  and  height  of  manhood,  in  the  fury  of 
madness,  lashing  out  the  great  thong  to  right  and  left  till 
it  cracked  like  pistol-shots  —  with  glaring  eyes,  and  foaming 
lips  out  of  which  poured  curses  and  blasphemies  —  was  this 
a  paternal  image,  was  it  civilized,  was  it  human  ?  The  aspect 
of  it  paralyzed  the  child,  till  a  sharp  intolerable  pain  came 
with  its  fierce  stimulus,  and  he  leaped  out  from  behind 
his  barricade  and  rushed  towards  the  door. 

The  lad  had  thick  fair  hair  in  a  thousand  natural  curls. 
He  felt  a  merciless  grip  in  it,  and  his  forehead  was  drawn  vio- 
lently backwards.  Well  for  him  that  he  struggled  and  writhed  ! 
for  the  steel  hammer  was  aimed  at  him  now,  and  the  blows 
from  it  crashed  on  the  furniture  as  the  aim  was  continually 
missed. 

The  man-servant  was  out  in  the  farm-buildings,  and  old 
Sarah  had  been  washing  in  an  out-house.  She  came  in  first, 
and  heard  a  bitter  cry.  Many  a  time  her  heart  had  bled  for 
the  child,  and  now  she  could  endure  it  no  longer.  She 
burst  into  the  room,  she  seized  Ogden's  wrist  and  drove  her 
nails  into  it  till  the  pain  made  him  let  the  child  go.  She  had 
left  both  doors  open.  In  an  instant  litde  Jacob  was  out  of 
the  house. 

Old  Sarah  was  a  strong  woman,  but  her  strength  was 
feebleness  to  Ogden's.  He  disengaged  himself  quite  easily, 
and  at  every  place  where  his  fingers  touched  her  there  was  a 


Chap.  V.  Father  and  Son.  5 1 

mark  on  her  body  for  days.  The  child  heard  curses  follow- 
ing him  as  he  flew  over  the  smooth  grass.  The  farm  was 
bounded  by  a  six-foot  wall.  The  curses  came  nearer  and 
nearer  ;  the  wall  loomed  black  and  high.  "  I  have  him  now," 
cried  Ogden,  as  he  saw  the  lad  struggling  to  get  over  the  wall. 
Little  Jacob  felt  himself  seized  by  the  foot.  An  infinite 
terror  stimulated  him,  and  he  wrenched  it  violently.  A  sting 
of  anguish  crossed  his  shoulders  where  the  heavy  whip-lash 
fell,  —  a  shoe  remained  in  Ogden's  hand. 


Wejiderholme.  part  i. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

LITTLE  JACOB  IS  LOST. 

/'~\GDEN  flung  the  shoe  down  with  an  imprecation,  and  the 
^-^  whip  after  it.  He  then  climbed  the  wall  and  tried  to 
run,  but  the  ground  here  was  rough  moorland,  and  he  ftll 
repeatedly.  He  saw  no  trace  of  little  Jacob.  He  made  his 
way  back  to  the  house,  sullen  and  savage,  and  besmeared 
with  earth  and  mud. 

"Give  me  a  lantern,  damn  you,"  he  said  to  old  Sarah, 
"  and  look  sharp  !  "  ^ 

Old  Sarah  took  down  a  common  candle-lantern,  and  pur- 
posely selected  one  with  a  hole  in  it.  She  also  chose  the 
shortest  of  her  candle-ends.  Ogden  did  not  notice  these 
particulars  in  his  impatience,  and  went  out  again.  Just  then 
Jim  came  in. 

"Well,"  said  old  Sarah,  "what  d'ye  think  master's  done? 
He  's  licked  little  Jacob  while  *  he  's  wenly  f  kilt  him,  but  t' 
little  un  's  reight  enough  now.     He  '11  never  catch  him." 

"  What !  has  little  Jacob  run  away .''  " 

"  Ay,  that  he  has  ;  and  he  can  run,  can  little  Jacob  ;  and  he 
knows  all  th'  places  about.  I  've  no  fears  on  him.  Master's 
gone  after  him  wi'  a  lantern  wi'  a  hoile  in  it,  and  auve  a  hinch 
o'  cannle.     It 's  like  catchin'  a  bird  wi'  a  pinch  o'  salt." 

"  Little  un  's  safe  enough,  I  'se  warrant  him." 

"We  mun  just  stop  quite  t  till  th'  ould  un 's  i'  bedd,  and 
then  we  '11  go  and  seech  §  little  Jacob." 

In    a  quarter  of  an  hour  Ogden  came  back  again.     His 

*  Till.  t  Almost.  X  Quiet.  §  Seek. 


Chap.  VI.  Little  Jacob  is  Lost.  53 

light  had  gone  out,  and  he  threw  the  lantern  down  on  the 
kitchen-floor  without  a  word,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his 
sitting-room. 

The  furniture  was  in  great  disorder.  The  chairs  were  all 
overturned,  the  mahogany  table  bore  deep  indentations  from 
the  blows  of  the  hammer.  Some  pieces  of  old  china  that  had 
ornamented  the  chimney-piece  lay  scattered  on  the  hearth. 
He  lifted  up  a  chair  and  sat  upon  it.  The  disorder  was  rather 
pleasing  to  him  than  otherwise ;  he  felt  a  bitter  satisfaction  in 
the  harmony  between  it  and  the  state  of  his  own  mind.  A 
large  fragment  of  broken  china  lay  close  to  his  foot.  It  be- 
longed to  a  basin,  which,  having  been  broken  only  into  three 
or  four  pieces,  was  still  repairable.  Ogden  put  it  under  his 
heel  and  crushed  it  to  powder,  feeling  a  sort  of  grim  satisfac- 
tion in  making  repair  out  of  the  question. 

He  sat  in  perfect  inaction  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  then  rang  the  bell.  "  Bring  me  hot  water,  and,  stop  — 
put  these  things  in  their  places,  will  you  ? " 

Old  Sarah  restored  some  order  in  the  room,  removed  the 
broken  china,  and  brought  the  hot  water. 

"  Now,  bring  me  a  bottle  of  rum." 

"  Please,  Mestur  Ogden,  you  've  got  no  rum  in  the  house." 

"  No,  but  you  have." 

"  Please,  sir,  I  've  got  very  little.  I  think  it 's  nearly  all 
done." 

"D'ye  think  I  want  to  rob  you?  I'll  pay  ye  for't,  damn 
you  !  " 

"  Mestur  Ogden,  you  don't  use  drinkin'  sperrits  at  Twisde 
Farm." 

Ogden  gave  a  violent  blow  on  the  table  with  his  fist,  and 
shouted,  "  Bring  me  a  bottle  of  rum,  a  bottle  of  rum  !  D  'ye 
think  you  're  to  have  all  the  rum  in  the  world  to  yourself,  you 
drunken  old  witch?" 

There  was  that  in  his  look  which  cowed  Sarah,  and  she 
reflected  that  he  might  be  less  dangerous  if  he  were  drunk. 
So  she  brought  the  rum. 


54  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

Ogden  was  pouring  himself  a  great  dose  into  a  tumbler, 
when  a  sudden  hesitation  possessed  him,  and  he  flung  the 
bottle  from  him  into  the  fireplace.  There  was  a  shivering 
crash,  and  then  a  vast  sheet  of  intolerable  flame.  The  intense 
heat  drove  Ogden  from  the  hearth.  He  seized  the  candle, 
and  went  upstairs  into  his  bedroom. 

Sarah  and  Jim  waited  to  see  whether  he  would  come  down 
again,  but  he  remained  in  his  room,  and  they  heard  the  boards 
creak  as  he  walked  from  wall  to  wall.  This  continued  an 
hour.     At  last  old  Sarah  said, — 

"I  cannot  bide  no  longer.  Let's  go  and  seech  th'  childt ;" 
and  she  lighted  two  lanterns,  which,  doubtless,  were  in  better 
condition,  and  better  provided  with  candles,  than  the  one  she 
had  lent  to  Mr,  Ogden. 

They  went  into  the  stable  and  cowhouse  (or  mistle  as  it  was 
called  in  that  country),  and  called  in  the  softest  and  most  win- 
ning tones  their  voices  knew  how  to  assume.  "Little  Jacob, 
little  Jacob,  come,  my  lad,  come;  it's  nobbut  old  Sarah  an' 
Jim.    Mestur  's  i'  bedd." 

They  went  amongst  the  hay  with  their  lanterns,  in  spite  of 
the  risk  of  setting  it  on  fire,  but  he  v/as  not  there.  He  was 
not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  out-buildings.  Suddenly  an  idea 
struck  Jim. 

"  If  we  'd  nobbut  his  bit  of  a  dog,  who  'd  find  him,  sure 
enough." 

But  Feorach  had  disappeared.  Feorach  was  with  her  young 
master. 

They  began  to  be  rather  alarmed,  for  it  was  very  cold,  and 
intensely  dark.  The  lad  was  certainly  not  on  the  premises. 
They  set  off  along  the  path  that  led  to  the  rocks.  They  ex- 
amined every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  huge  masses  of  sand- 
stone, and  their  lanterns  produced  the  most  unaccustomed 
effects,  bringing  out  the  rough  projections  of  the  rock  against 
the  unfathomable  black  sky,  and  casting  enormous  shadows 
from  one  rock  to  another.     Wherever  their  feet  could  tread 


Chap.  VI.  Little  Jacob  is  Lost.  55 

they  went,  missing  nothing  ;  but  the  lad  was  not  amongst  the 
rocks.  It  began  to  be  clear  to  them  that  he  could  not  even 
be  in  a  place  of  such  shelter  as  that.  He  must  be  out  on  the 
open  moor. 

"We  mun  go  and  tell  Mestur,"  said  Jim.  "  If  he's  feared 
about  th'  childt,  he  willn't  be  mad  at  him." 

So  they  returned  straight  to  the  house,  and  went  to  Mr. 
Ogden's  room.  He  had  gone  to  bed,  but  was  not  asleep.  If 
he  thought  about  little  Jacob  at  all,  his  reflections  were  prob- 
ably not  of  an  alarming  kind.  The  child  would  come  back,  of 
course. 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  Jim,  "  Master  Jacob  isn  't  come  back, 
and  we  can't  find  him." 

"  He  11  come  back,"  said  Ogden. 

"  Please,  sir,  I  'm  rather  feared  about  him,"  said  Jim  ;  "  it 's 
nearly  two  hours  sin'  he  left  the  house,  and  it 's  uncommon 
cold.  We  've  been  seekin'  him  all  up  and  down,  old  Sarah 
and  me,  and  he 's  nowhere  about  th'  premises,  and  he  isn't 
about  th'  rocks  neither." 

Mr.  Ogden  began  to  feel  rather  alarmed.  The  paroxysm 
of  his  irritation  was  over  by  this  time,  and  he  had  become 
rational  again ;  indeed  his  mind  was  clearer,  and,  in  a  certain 
sense,  calmer,  than  it  had  been  for  two  or  three  days.  For 
the  last  half-hour  he  had  been  suffering  only  from  great  pros- 
tration, and  a  feeling  of  dulness  and  vacancy,  which  this  new 
anxiety  effectually  removed.  Notwithstanding  the  violence  of 
his  recent  treatment  of  his  son  —  a  violence  which  had  fre- 
quently broken  out  during  several  months,  and  which  had 
culminated  in  the  scene  described  in  the  last  chapter,  when  it 
had  reached  the  pitch  of  temporary  insanity  —  he  really  had 
the  deepest  possible  affection  for  his  child,  and  this  paternal 
feeling  was  more  powerful  than  he  himself  had  ever  con- 
sciously known  or  acknowledged.  When  once  the  idea  was 
realized  that  little  Jacob  might  be  suffering  physically  from 
the  cold,  and  mentally  from  a  dread  of  his  father,  which  the 


56  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

events  of  the  night  only  too  fully  justified,  Mr.  Ogden  began 
to  feel  the  tenderest  care  and  anxiety.  "  I  '11  be  down  with 
you  in  a  moment,"  he  said.  "  See  that  the  lanterns  are  in 
good  order.  Have  the  dogs  ready  to  go  with  us  —  they  may 
be  of  some  use." 

He  came  downstairs  with  a  serious  but  quite  reasonable 
expression  on  his  face.  He  spoke  quite  gently  to  old  Sarah, 
and  said,  with  a  half-smile,  "  You  needn't  give  me  a  lantern 
with  a  hole  in  it  this  time  ;"  and  then  he  added,  "  I  wasted  all 
that  rum  you  gave  me." 

"  It  'ud  'ave  been  worst  wasted  if  you  'd  swallowed  it,  Mestur." 

'*  It  would  —  it  would  ;  but  we  may  need  a  little  for  the  lad 
if  we  find  him  —  very  cold,  you  know.  Give  a  little  to  Ji'n. 
if  you  have  any ;  and  take  a  railway  rug,  or  a  blanket  from 
my  bed,  to  wrap  him  in  if  he  should  need  it." 

The  dogs  were  in  the  kitchen  now  —  a  large  mastiff  and  a 
couple  of  pointers.  Mr.  Ogden  took  down  a  little  cloak  that 
belonged  to  Jacob,  and  made  the  dogs  smell  at  it.  Then  he 
seemed  to  be  looking  about  for  something  else. 

"  Are  ye  seekin'  something,  Mr.  Ogden  ? " 

"  I  want  something  to  make  a  noise  with,  Sarah."  She 
fetched  the  little  silver  horn  that  had  been  the  Doctor's  last 
present  to  his  young  friend.  "  That 's  it,"  said  Mr.  Ogden  ; 
"  he  '11  know  the  sound  of  that  when  he  hears  it." 

The  little  party  set  out  towards  the  moor.  Mr.  Ogden  led 
it  to  the  place  where  Jacob  had  crossed  the  wall ;  and  as  Jim 
was  looking  about  with  his  lantern  he  called  out,  "  Why, 
master,  here  's  one  of  his  shoes,  and  —  summat  else." 

The  "  summat  else  "  was  the  great  whip. 

Mr.  Ogden  took  the  shoe  up,  and  the  whip.  They  were 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  pond,  and  he  went  down  to  the 
edge  of  it.  A  slight  splash  was  heard,  and  he  came  back 
without  the  whip.  The  weight  of  the  steel  hammer  had  sunk 
it,  and  hidden  it  from  his  eyes  for  ever.  He  carried  the  little 
shoe  in  his  right  hand. 


Chap.  VI.  Little  Jacob  is  Lost.  57 

When  they  had  crossed  the  wall,  Mr.  Ogden  bent  down 
and  put  the  shoe  on  the  ground,  and  called  the  dogs.  The 
pointers  understood  him  at  once,  and  went  rapidly  on  the 
scent,  whilst  the  little  party  followed  them  as  fast  as  they 
could. 

It  led  out  upon  the  open  moor.  When  they  were  nearly  a 
mile  from  the  house,  Mr.  Ogden  told  Sarah  to  go  back  and 
make  a  fire  in  little  Jacob's  room,  and  warm  his  bed.  The 
two  men  then  went  forward  in  silence. 

It  was  bitterly  cold,  and  the  wind  began  to  rise,  whistling 
over  the  wild  moor.  It  was  now  eleven  o'clock  ;  Mr.  Ogden 
looked  at  his  watch.  Suddenly  the  dogs  came  to  a  stand- 
still ;  they  had  reached  the  edge  of  a  long  sinuous  bog  with 
a  surface  of  treacherous  green,  and  little  black  pools  of 
peat-water  and  mud.  Mr.  Ogden  knew  the  bog  perfectly,  as 
he  knew  every  spot  on  the  whole  moor  that  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  shoot  over,  and  he  became  terribly  anxious.  "We 
must  mark  this  spot,"  he  said  ;  but  neither  he  nor  Jim  carried 
a  stick,  and  there  was  no  wood  for  miles  round.  The  only 
resource  was  to  make  a  little  cairn  of  stones. 

When  this  was  finished,  Mr.  Ogden  stood  looking  at  the 
bog  a  few  minutes,  measuring  its  breadth  with  his  eye.  He 
concluded  that  it  was  impossible  for  a  child  to  leap  over  it 
even  at  the  narrowest  place,  and  suggested  that  little  Jacob 
must  have  skirted  it.  But  in  which  direction  —  to  the  right 
hand  or  the  left  ?  The  dogs  gave  no  indication  ;  they  were 
off  the  scent.  Mr.  Ogden  followed  the  edge  of  the  bog  to 
the  right,  and  after  walking  half  a  mile,  turned  the  extremity 
of  it,  and  came  again  on  the  other  side  till  he  was  opposite 
the  cairn  he  had  made.  The  dogs  found  no  fresh  scent  j 
they  were  perfectly  useless.  "  Make  a  noise,"  said  Mr.  Ogden 
to  Jim  ;  "  make  a  noise  with  that  horn." 

Jim  blew  a  loud  blast.  There  came  no  answering  cry. 
The  wind  whistled  over  the  heather,  and  a  startled  grouse 
^vhirred  past  on  her  rapid   wings. 


58  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

An  idea  was  forcing  its  way  into  Mr.  Ogden's  mind— 7 a 
hateful,  horrible,  inadmissible  idea — that  the  foul  black  pit 
before  him  might  be  the  grave  of  his  only  son.  How  ascer- 
tain it  ?  They  had  not  the  necessary  implements  ;  and  what 
would  be  the  use  of  digging  in  that  flowing,  and  yielding, 
and  unfathomable  black  mud  ?  He  could  not  endure  the 
place,  or  the  intolerable  supposition  that  it  suggested,  and 
went  wildly  on,  in  perfect  silence,  with  compressed  lips  and 
beating  heart,  stumbling  over  the  rough  land. 

Old  Sarah  warmed  the  little  bed,  and  made  a  bright  fire 
in  Jacob's  room.  When  Ogden  came  back,  he  went  there  at 
once,  and  found  the  old  woman  holding  a  small  night-gown 
to  the  fire.  His  face  told  her  enough.  His  dress  was  covered 
with  snow. 

"  Th'  dogs  is  'appen  mistaken,"  she  said ;  "  little  Jacob 
might  be  at  Milend  by  this  time." 

Mr.  Ogden  sent  Jim  down  to  Shayton  on  horse-back,  and 
returned  to  the  moor  alone.  They  met  again  at  the  farm  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Neither  of  them  had  any  news 
of  the  child.  Jim  had  roused  the  household  at  Milend,  and 
awakened  everybody  both  at  the  parsonage  and  the  Doctor's. 
He  had  given  the  alarm,  and  he  had  done  the  same  at  the 
scattered  cottages  and  farm-houses  between  Twistle  Farm 
and  Shayton.  If  Jacob  were  seen  anywhere,  news  would  be 
at  once  sent  to  his  father.  Dr.  Bardly  was  not  at  home  ;  he 
had  left  about  noon  for  Sootythorn  on  militia  business,  and 
expected  to  go  on  to  Wenderholme  with  Colonel  Stanburne, 
where  he  intended  to  pass  the  night. 


Chap.  VII.         Isaac  Ogdeiis  PunishrneiU.  59 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ISAAC   OGDEN'S   PUNISHMENT. 

DURING  what  remained  of  the  night,  it  is  unnecessary 
to  add  that  nobody  at  Twistle  Farm  had  rest.  The 
search  was  continually  renewed  in  various  directions,  and 
always  with  the  same  negative  result.  Mr.  Ogden  began  to 
lose  hope,  and  was  more  and  more  confirmed  in  his  supposi- 
tion that  his  son  must  have  perished  in  the  bog.  Jim  returned 
to  Shayton,  where  he  arrived  about  half-past  four  in  the 
morning.  When  the  hands  assembled  at  Ogden's  mill,  Mr. 
Jacob  told  them  that  the  factory  would  be  closed  that  day, 
but  that  he  would  pay  them  their  full  wages  ;  and  he  should 
feel  grateful  to  any  of  the  men  who  would  help  him  in  the 
search  for  his  little  nephew,  who  had  unfortunately  disap- 
peared from  Twistle  on  the  preceding  evening,  and  had  not 
been  since  heard  of.  He  added,  that  a  reward  of  a  hundred 
pounds  would  be  given  to  any  one  who  would  bring  him  news 
of  the  child.  Soon  after  daylight,  handbills  were  posted  in 
every  street  in  Shayton  ofiFering  the  same  reward.  Mr.  Jacob 
returned  to  Milend  from  the  factory,  and  prepared  to  set  out 
for  Twistle. 

The  sun  rose  in  clear  frosty  air,  and  the  moors  were  cov- 
ered with  snow.  Large  groups  began  to  arrive  at  the  farm 
about  eight  o'clock,  and  at  nine  the  hill  was  dotted  with 
searchers  in  every  direction.  It  was  suggested  to  Mr.  Ogden 
by  a  ^policeman  that  if  he  had  any  intention  of  having  the 
pond  dragged,  it  would  be  well  that  it  should  be  done  at 
once,  as  there  was  already  a  thin  coat  of  ice  upon  it,  and  it 


6o  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

would  probably  freeze  during  the  whole  of  the  day  and  fol- 
lowing night,  so  that  delay  would  entail  great  additional  labor 
in  the  breaking  of  the  ice.  An  apparatus  was  sent  up  from 
Shayton  for  this  purpose.  Mr.  Ogden  did  not  superintend 
this  operation,  but  sat  alone  in  his  parlor  waiting  to  hear  the  re- 
sult.   There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  policeman  entered. 

"We  've  found  nothing  in  the  pond,  Mr.  Isaac,  except  —  " 

"  Except  what .? " 

"  Only  this  whip,  sir,  that  must  belong  to  you ; "  and  he 
produced  the  whip  with  the  steel  hammer.  "  It  may  be  an 
important  hindication,  sir,  if  it  could  be  ascertained  whether 
your  little  boy  had  been  playin'  with  it  yesterday  evenin'. 
You  don't  remember  seein'  him  with  it,  do  you,  sir.? " 

Mr.  Ogden  groaned,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
Then  his  whole  frame  shook  convulsively.    Old  Sarah  came  in. 

"  I  was  just  askin'  Mr.  Ogden  whether  he  knew  if  the  little 
boy  had  been  playin' with  this  'ere  whip  yesterday  —  we've 
found  it  in  the  pond  ;  and  as  I  was  just  sayin',  it  might  be  a 
useful  hindication." 

Old  Sarah  looked  at  the  whip,  which  lay  wet  upon  the  table. 
"I  seed  that  whip  yistady,  but  I  dunnot  think  our  little  lad 
played  wi'  it.  He  didn't  use  playin'  wi'  that  whip.  That 
there  whip  belongs  to  his  father,  an'  it 's  him  as  makes  use 
on  it,  and  non  little  Jacob." 

Mr.  Ogden  removed  his  hands  from  his  face,  and  said, 
*'  The  whip  proves  nothing.  I  threw  it  into  the  pond  yester- 
day myself." 

The  policeman  looked  much  astonished.  "  It 's  a  fine  good 
whip,  sir,  to  throw  away." 

"  Well,  take  it,  then,  if  you  admire  it.  I  'II  make  ye  a  pres- 
ent of  it." 

"  I  've  no  use  for  it,  sir." 

"  Then,  I  reckon,"  said  old  Sarah,  "  as  you  'aven't  got  a 
little  lad  about  nine  year  old  ;  such  whips  as  that  is  consith- 
ered  useful  for  thrashin'  little  lads  about  nine  year  old," 


Chap.  VII.         Isaac  Ogdens  Punishment.  6i 

Mr.  Ogden  could  bear  this  no  longer,  and  said  he  would  gc 
down  to  the  pond.  When  he  had  left  the  room,  old  Sarah 
took  up  the  whip  and  hung  it  in  its  old  place,  over  the  silver 
spurs.  The  policeman  lingered.  Old  Sarah  relieved  her 
mind  by  recounting  what  had  passed  on  the  preceding  even- 
ing. "  I  am  some  and  glad  *  as  you  brought  him  that  there 
whip.  'J'h'  sight  of  it  is  like  pins  and  needles  in  'is  een. 
You  've  punished  'im  with  it  far  worse  than  if  you  'd  laid  it 
ovver  his  shoulthers." 

Mr.  Ogden  gave  orders  that  every  one  who  wanted  any 
thing  to  eat  should  be  freely  supplied  in  the  kitchen.  One  of 
old  Sarah's  great  accomplishments  was  the  baking  of  oat- 
cake, and  as  the  bread  in  the  house  was  soon  eaten  up,  old 
Sarah  heated  her  oven,  and  baked  two  or  three  hundred  oat- 
cakes. When  once  the  mixture  is  prepared,  and  the  oven 
heated,  a  skilful  performer  bakes  these  cakes  with  surprising 
rapidity,  and  old  Sarah  was  proud  of  her  skill.  If  any  thing 
could  have  relieved  her  anxiety  about  little  Jacob,  it  would 
have  been  this  beloved  occupation — but  not  even  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  the  thin  fluid  mixture  spread  over  the  heated 
sheet  of  iron,  and  of  tossing  the  cake  dexterously  at  the 
proper  time,  could  relieve  the  good  heart  of  its  heavy  care. 
Even  the  very  occupation  itself  had  saddening  associations, 
for  when  old  Sarah  pursued  it,  little  Jacob  had  usually  been 
a  highly  interested  spectator,  though  often  very  much  in  the 
way.  She  had  scolded  him  many  a  time  for  his  "  plagui- 
ness ; "  but,  alas  !  what  would  she  have  given  to  be  plagued 
by  that  small  tormentor  now  ! 

The  fall  of  snow  had  been  heavy  enough  to  fill  up  the 
smaller  inequalities  of  the  ground,  and  the  hills  had  that 
aspect  of  exquisite  smoothness  and  purity  which  would  be 
degraded  by  any  comparison.  Under  happier  circumstances, 
the  clear  atmosphere  and  brilliant  landscape  would  have  been 

*  "  Some  and  glad  "  is  a  common  Lancashire  expression,  meaning 
"  consideralily  glad." 


62  Wenderhobne.  pakt  i. 

in  the  highest  degree  exhilarating ;  but  I  suppose  nobody  at 
Twistle  felt  that  exhilaration  now.  On  the  contrary,  there 
seemed  to  be  something  chilling  and  pitiless  in  that  cold 
splendor  and  brightness.  No  one  could  look  on  the  vast 
sweep  of  silent  snow  without  feeling  that  somewhere  under  its 
equal  and  unrevealing  surface  lay  the  body  of  a  beloved  child. 

The  grave-faced  seekers  ranged  the  moors  all  day,  after  a  reg- 
ular system  devised  by  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden.  The  circle  of  their 
search  became  wider  and  wider,  like  the  circles  from  a  splash 
in  water.  In  this  way,  before  nightfall,  above  thirty  square 
miles  had  been  thoroughly  explored.  At  last,  after  a  day  that 
seemed  longer  than  the  longest  days  of  summer,  the  sun 
went  down,  and  one  by  one  the  stars  came  out.  The  heav- 
ens were  full  of  their  glittering  when  the  scattered  bands  of 
seekers  met  together  again  at  the  farm. 

The  fire  was  still  kept  alive  in  little  Jacob's  room.  The 
little  night-gown  still  hung  before  it.  Old  Sarah  changed 
the  hot  water  in  the  bed-warmer  regularly  every  hour.  Alas  ! 
alas !  was  there  any  need  of  these  comforts  now  ?  Do 
corpses  care  to  have  their  shrouds  warmed,  or  to  have  hot- 
water  bottles  at  their  icy  feet  ? 

Mr.  Ogden,  who  had  controlled  himself  with  wonderful 
success  so  long  as  the  sun  shone,  began  to  show  unequivocal 
signs  of  agitation  after  nightfall.  He  had  headed  a  party  on 
the  moor,  and  came  back  with  a  sinking  heart.  He  had  no 
hope  left.  The  child  must  certainly  have  died  in  the  cold. 
He  went  into  little  Jacob's  bedroom  and  walked  about  alone 
for  a  few  minutes,  pacing  from  the  door  to  the  window, 
and  looking  out  on  the  cold  white  hills,  the  monotony  of 
which  was  relieved  only  by  the  masses  of  black  rock  that  rose 
out  of  them  here  and  there.  The  fire  had  burnt  very  briskly, 
and  it  seemed  to  Mr.  Ogden  that  the  little  night-gown  was 
rather  too  near.  As  he  drew  back  the  chair  he  gazed  a 
minute  at  the  bit  of  linen  ;  his  chest  heaved  with  violent 
emotion,  and  then  there  came  a  great  and  terrible  agony.    He 


Chap.  VII.         Isaac  Ogden  s  Punishment.  63 

sat  down  on  the  low  iron  bed,  his  strong  frame  shook  and  quiv- 
ered, and  with  painful  gasps  flowed  the  bitter  tears  of  his 
vain  repentance.  He  looked  at  the  smooth  little  pillow,  un- 
touched during  a  whole  night,  and  thought  of  the  dear  head 
that  had  pressed  it,  and  might  never  press  it  more.  Where 
was  it  resting  now  ?  Was  the  frozen  snow  on  the  fair  cheek 
and  open  brow,  or — oh  horror,  still  more  horrible!  —  had  he 
been  buried  alive  in  the  black  and  treacherous  pit,  and  were 
the  dear  locks  defiled  with  the  mud  of  the  bog,  and  the  bright 
eyes  filled  with  its  slimy  darkness  for  ever  ?  Surely  he  had 
not  descended  into  that  grave ;  they  had  done  what  they 
could  to  sound  the  place,  and  had  found  nothing  but  earth; 
soft  and  yielding —  no  fragment  of  dress  had  come  up  or 
their  boat-hooks.  It  was  more  endurable  to  imagine  the 
child  asleep  under  the  snow.  When  the  thaw  came  they 
would  find  him,  and  bring  him  to  his  own  chamber,  and  lay 
him  again  on  his  own  bed,  at  least  for  one  last  night,  till  the 
coffin  came  up  from  Shayton. 

How  good  the  child  had  been  !  how  brutally  Ogden  felt 
that  he  had  used  him  !  Litde  Jacob  had  been  as  forgiving  as 
a  dog,  and  as  ready  to  respond  to  the  slightest  mark  of  kind- 
ness. He  had  been  the  light  of  the  lonely  house  with  his 
innocent  prattle  and  gayety.  Ogden  had  frightened  him  into 
silence  lately,  and  driven  him  into  the  kitchen,  where  he  had 
many  a  time  heard  him  laughing  with  old  Sarah  and  Jim,  and 
been  unreasonably  angry  with  him  for  it.  Ogden  began  to 
see  these  things  in  a  different  light.  "  I  used  him  so  badly," 
he  thought,  "that  it  was  only  natural  he  should  shun  and 
avoid  me."  And  then  he  felt  and  knew  how  much  sweet  and 
pure  companionship  he  had  missed.  He  had  not  half  en- 
joyed the  blessing  he  had  possessed.  He  ought  to  have  made 
himself  young  again  for  the  child's  sake.  W'ould  it  have 
done  him  any  harm  to  teach  little  Jacob  cricket,  and  play  at 
ball  with  him,  or  at  nine-pins  ?  The  boy's  life  had  been  ter- 
ribly lonely,  and  his  father  had  done  nothing  to  dissipate  or 


64  Wcnderholme.  Part  i. 

mitigate  its  loneliness.  And  then  there  came  a  bitter  sense 
that  he  had  really  loved  the  child  with  an  immense  affection, 
but  that  the  coldness  and  roughness  and  brutality  of  his  out- 
ward behavior  had  hidden  this  affection  from  his  son.  In 
this,  however,  Mr.  Ogden  had  not  been  quite  so  much  to 
blame  as  in  the  agony  of  his  repentance  he  himself  believed. 
His  self-accusation,  like  all  sincere  and  genuine  self-accusa- 
tion, had  a  touch  of  exaggeration  in  it.  The  wrong  that  he 
had  done  was  attributable  quite  as  much  to  the  temper  of  the 
place  he  lived  in  as  to  any  peculiar  evil  in  himself  as  an  in- 
dividual man.  He  had  spoiled  his  temper  by  drinking,  but 
every  male  in  Shayton  did  the  same  ;  he  had  been  externally 
hard  and  unsympathetic,  but  the  inhabitants  of  Shayton  car- 
ried to  an  excess  the  English  contempt  for  the  betrayal  of  the 
softer  emotions.  In  all  that  Ogden  had  done,  in  the  whole 
tenor  of  his  life  and  conversation,  he  had  merely  obeyed  the 
great  human  instinct  of  conformity.  Had  he  lived  anywhere 
else  —  had  he  even  lived  at  Sootythorn  —  he  would  have 
been  a  different  man.  Such  as  he  was,  he  was  the  product 
of  the  soil,  like  the  hard  pears  and  sour  apples  that  grew  in 
the  dismal  garden  at  Milend. 

He  had  been  sitting  more  than  an  hour  on  the  bed,  when 
he  heard  a  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  old  Sarah,  who  an- 
nounced the  arrival  of  Mr.  Prigley  and  Mrs.  Ogden.  Mr. 
Prigley  had  been  to  fetch  her  from  the  place  where  she  was 
visiting,  and  endeavored  to  oflfer  such  comfort  to  her  during 
the  journey  as  his  heart  and  profession  suggested.  As  on 
their  arrival  at  Milend  there  had  been  no  news  of  a  favor- 
able or  even  hopeful  kind,  Mrs.  Ogden  was  anxious  to  pro- 
ceed to  Twistle  immediately,  and  Mr.  Prigley  had  kindly 
accompanied  her. 

The  reader  may  have  inferred  from  previous  pages  of  this 
history,  that  although  Mr.  Prigley  may  have  been  a  blameless 
and  earnest  divine,  he  was  not  exactly  the  man  best  fitted  to 
influence  such  a  nature  as  that  of    Isaac  Ogden.     He  had 


Chap.  VII.         Isauc  Ogdens  P2mishment.  05 

little  understanding  either  of  its  weakness  or  its  strength  — 
of  its  weakness  before  certain  forms  of  temptation,  or  its 
strength  in  acknowledging  unwelcome  and  terrible  facts. 
After  Mrs.  Ogden  had  simply  said,  "  Well,  Isaac,  there 's  no 
news  of  him  yet,"  the  clergyman  tried  to  put  a  cheerful  light 
on  the  subject  by  expressing  the  hope  that  the  boy  was  safe 
in  some  farmhouse.  Mr.  Ogden  answered  that  every  farm- 
house within  several  miles  had  been  called  at,  and  that  Twistle 
Farm  was  the  last  of  the  farms  on  the  moor  side.  It  was 
most  unlikely,  in  his  opinion,  that  the  child  could  have  re- 
sisted the  cold  so  long,  especially  as  he  had  no  provisions  of 
any  kind,  and  was  not  even  sufficiently  clothed  to  go  out  ; 
and  as  he  had  certainly  not  called  at  any  house  within  seven 
or  eight  miles  of  Twistle,  Mr.  Ogden  could  only  conclude 
that  he  must  have  perished  on  the  moor,  and  that  the  thick 
fall  of  snow  was  all  that  had  prevented  the  discovery  of  his 
body. 

Mrs.  Ogden  sat  down  and  began  to  cry  very  bitterly.  The 
sorrow  of  a  person  like  Mrs.  Ogden  is  at  the  same  time  quite 
frank  in  its  expression,  and  perfectly  monotonous.  Her  regrets 
expressed  themselves  adequately  in  three  words,  and  the 
repetition  of  them  made  her  litany  of  grief  —  "Poor  little 
lad  \  "  and  then  a  great  burst  of  weeping,  and  then  "  Poor  little 
lad  !  "  again,  perpetually. 

The  clergyman  attempted  to  "  improve  "  the  occasion  in 
the  professional  sense.  "  The  Lord  hath  given,"  he  said, 
"  and  the  Lord  bath  taken  away  ; "  then  he  paused,  and 
added,  "  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord."  But  this  brought 
no  solace  to  Ogden's  mind.  "  It  was  not  the  Lord  that  took 
the  lad  away,"  be  answered  ;  "  it  was  his  father  that  drove 
him  away." 

The  great  agony  came  over  him  again,  and  he  flung  himself 
on  his  breast  upon  the  sofa  and  buried  his  face  in  the  cush- 
ions. Then  his  mother  rose  and  came  slowly  to  his  side,  and 
knelt   down   by  him.     Precious  maternal  feelings,  that  had 

s 


66  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

been,  as  it  were,  forgotten  in  her  heart  for  more  than  twenty 
years,  like  jewels  that  are  worn  no  more,  shone  forth  once 
more  from  her  swimming  eyes.  "  Isaac,  lad,"  she  said,  with 
a  voice  that  sounded  in  his  ears  like  a  far-off  recollection  of 
childhood,  —  "  Isaac,  lad,  it  were  none  o'  thee  as  did  it,  —  it 
were  drink.  Thou  wouldn't  have  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head." 
Atid  she  kissed  him. 

It  was  a  weary  night  at  Twistle.  Nobody  had  any  hope 
let'.",  but  they  felt  bound  to  continue  the  search,  and  relays 
of  men  came  up  from  Shayton  for  the  purpose.  They  were 
divided  into  little  parties  of  six  or  eight,  and  Mr.  Jacob 
directed  their  movements.  Each  group  returned  to  the  house 
after  exploring  the  ground  allotted  to  it,  and  Mr.  Ogden  fe- 
verishly awaited  its  arrival.  The  ever-recurring  answer,  the 
sad  shake  of  the  head,  the  disappointed  looks,  sank  into  the 
heart  of  the  bereaved  father.  About  two  in  the  morning  he 
got  a  little  sleep,  and  awoke  in  half  an  hour  somewhat  stronger 
and  calmer. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  pursue  the  detail  of  these  sufferings. 
The  days  passed,  but  brought  no  news.  Dr.  Bardly  came 
back  from  Wenderholme,  and  seemed  less  affected  than  would 
have  been  expected  by  those  who  knew  his  love  and  friend- 
ship for  little  Jacob.  He  paid,  however,  especial  attention  to 
Mr.  Isaac,  whom  he  invited  to  stay  with  him  for  a  few  weeks, 
and  who  bore  his  sorrow  with  a  manly  fortitude.  The  Doctor 
drank  his  habitual  tumbler  of  brandy- and-water  every  evening 
before  going  to  bed,  and  the  first  evening,  by  way  of  hospi- 
tality, had  offered  the  same  refreshment  to  his  guest.  Mr. 
Ogden  declined  simply,  and  the  offer  was  not  renewed.  For 
the  first  week  he  smoked  a  great  deal,  and  drank  large  quan- 
tities of  soda-water,  but  did  not  touch  any  intoxicating  liquor. 
He  persevered  in  this  abstinence,  and  declared  his  firm  re- 
solve to  continue  it  as  a  visible  sign  of  his  repentance,  and 
of  his  respect  to  the  memory  of  his  boy.  He  was  very  gentle 
and  pleasant,  and  talked  freely  with  the   Doctor  about  ordi- 


Chap.  VII.        Isaac  O^deiis  PunisJniieiit.  67 


cb 


nary  subjects ;  but,  for  a  man  whose  vigor  and  energy  had 
manifested  themselves  in  some  abruptness  and  rudeness  in 
the  common  intercourse  of  life,  this  new  gentleness  was  a 
marked  sign  of  sadness.  When  the  Doctor's  servant,  Martha, 
came  in  unexpectedly  and  found  Mr.  Ogden  alone,  she  often 
observed  that  he  had  shed  tears  ;  but  he  seemed  cheerful 
when  spoken  to,  and  his  grief  was  quiet  and  undemonstrative. 

The  search  for  the  child  was  still  actively  pursued,  and 
his  mysterious  disappearance  became  a  subject  of  absorbing 
interest  in  the  neighborhood.  The  local  newspapers  were  full 
of  it,  and  there  appeared  a  ver}'  terrible  article  in  the  '  Sooty- 
thorn  Gazette  '  on  Mr.  Ogden's  cruelty  to  his  child.  The 
writer  was  an  inhabitant  of  Shayton,  who  had  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  have  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  for  his  creditor,  and  had 
been  pursued  with  great  rigor  by  that  gentleman.  He  got 
the  necessary  data  from  the  policeman  who  had  brought  the 
whip  back  from  the  pond,  and  wrote  such  a  description  of  it 
as  made  the  flesh  of  the  Sooty  thorn  people  creep  upon  their 
bones,  and  their  cheeks  redden  with  indignation.  The  Doc- 
tor happened  to  be  out  of  the  house  when  this  newspaper 
arrived,  and  Mr.  Isaac  opened  it  and  read  the  article.  The 
facts  stated  in  it  were  true  and  undeniable,  and  the  victim 
quailed  under  his  punishment.  If  he  had  ventured  into 
Sootythorn,  he  would  have  been  mobbed  and  pelted,  or  per- 
haps lynched.  He  was  scarcely  safe  even  in  Shayton  ;  and 
when  he  walked  from  the  Doctor's  to  Milend,  the  factory 
operatives  asked  him  where  his  whip  was,  and  the  children 
pretended  to  be  frightened,  and  ran  out  of  his  way.  A  still 
worse  punishment  was  the  singular  gravity  of  the  faces  that 
he  met  —  a  gravity  that  did  not  mean  sympathy  but  censure. 
The  '  Sootythorn  Gazette  '  demanded  that  he  should  be  pun- 
ished —  that  an  example  should  be  made  of  him,  and  so  on. 
The  writer  had  his  wish,  without  the  intervention  of  the  law. 

After  a  few  weeks  the  mystery  was  decided  to  be  insoluble, 
and  dismissed  from  the  columns  of  the  newspapers.     Even 


68  Wenderholme.  part  i. 

the  ingenious  professional  detectives  admitted  that  they  were 
at  fault,  and  could  hold  out  no  hopes  of  a  discovery.  Mr. 
Ogden  had  with  difficulty  been  induced  to  remain  at  the  Doc- 
tor's during  the  prosecution  of  these  inquiries  ;  but  Dr.  Bardly 
had  represented  to  him  that  he  ought  to  have  a  fixed  address 
in  case  news  should  arrive,  and  that  he  need  not  be  wholly 
inactive,  but  might  ride  considerable  distances  in  various 
directions,  which  indeed  he  did,  but  without  result. 

Mrs.  Ogden  remained  at  Milend,  but  whether  from  the 
strength  of  her  nature,  or  some  degree  of  insensibility,  she  did 
not  appear  to  suffer  greatly  from  her  bereavement,  and  pur- 
sued her  usual  household  avocations  with  her  accustomed 
regularity.  Mr.  Jacob  went  to  his  factoiy,  and  was  absorbed 
in  the  details  of  business.  No  one  put  on  mourning,  for  the 
child  was  still  considered  as  possibly  alive,  and  perhaps  his 
relations  shrank  from  so  decided  an  avowal  of  their  abandon- 
ment of  hope.  The  one  exception  to  this  rule  was  old  Sarah 
at  Twistle,  who  clad  herself  in  a  decent  black  dress  that  she 
had  by  her.  "  If  t'  little  un  's  deead,"  she  said,  "  it's  nobbut 
reight  to  put  mysel'  i'  black  for  him  ;  and  if  he  isn't  I  'm  so 
sore  in  my  heart  ovver  him  'at  I  'm  fit  to  wear  nought  else." 


Chap.  VIII.  From  Sooty tJiorn  to  Wender holme.        69 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FROM  SOOTYTHORN  TO  WENDERHOLME. 

THE  next  scene  of  our  story  is  in  the  Thorn  Hotel  at  the 
prosperous  manufacturing  town  of  Sootythorn,  a  place 
superior  to  Shayton  in  size  and  civilization  and  selected  by 
the  authorities  as  the  head-quarters  of  Colonel  Stanburne's 
regiment  of  militia. 

Dr.  Bardly  arrived  at  the  Thorn  the  morning  after  Isaac 
Ogden's  relapse,  having  driven  all  the  way  from  Shayton, 
through  scenery  which  would  have  been  comparable  to  any 
thing  in  England,  if  the  valleys  had  not  been  spoiled  by  cot- 
ton-mills, rows  of  ugly  cottages,  and  dismal-looking  coal-pits. 

"Colonel  Stanburne's  expecting  you,  Doctor,"  said  Mr. 
Garley,  the  landlord  of  the  Thorn  ;  "  he 's  in  the  front  sitting- 
room." 

The  Colonel  was  sitting  by  himself,  with  the  *  Times '  and 
a  little  black  pipe. 

"  Good  morning.  Dr.  Bardly !  you  've  a  nice  little  piece  of 
work  before  you.  There  are  a  lot  of  fellows  here  to  be  exam- 
ined as  to  their  physical  constitution  —  fellows,  you  know, 
who  aspire  to  the  honor  of  serving  in  the  twentieth  regiment 
of  Royal  Lancashire  Militia." 

"  Perhaps  I  'd  better  begin  with  the  hofficers,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

The  Colonel  looked  alarmed,  or  affected  to  be  so.  "  My 
dear  Doctor,  there's  not  the  least  necessity  for  examining 
officers  —  it  isn't  customary,  it  isn't  legal ;  officers  are  always 
perfect,  both  physically  and  morally." 


70  Wenderholmc.  part  i. 

A  theory  of  this  kind  came  well  enough  from  Colonel 
Stanburne.  He  was  six  feet  high,  and  the  picture  of  health. 
He  brought  forth  the  fruits  of  good  living,  not,  as  Mr.  Garley 
did,  in  a  bloated  and  rubicund  face  and  protuberant  corpo- 
ration, but  in  that  admirable  balance  of  the  whole  human 
organism  which  proves  the  regular  and  equal  performance 
of  all  its  functions.  Dr.  Bardly  was  a  good  judge  of  a  man, 
and  he  had  the  same  pleasure  in  looking  at  the  Colonel  that 
a  fox-hunter  feels  in  contemplating  a  fine  horse.  Beyond  this, 
he  liked  Colonel  Stanburne's  society,  not  precisely,  perhaps, 
for  intellectual  reasons  —  for,  intellectually,  there  was  little 
or  nothing  in  common  between  the  two  men  —  but  because 
he  found  in  it  a  sort  of  mental  refreshment,  very  pleasant  to 
him  after  the  society  at  Shayton.  The  Colonel  was  a  dif- 
ferent being  —  he  lived  in  a  different  world  from  the  world 
of  the  Ogdens  and  their  friends ;  and  it  amused  and  inter- 
ested the  Doctor  to  see  how  this  strange  and  rather  admirable 
creature  would  conduct  itself  under  the  conditions  of  its 
present  existence.  The  Doctor,  as  the  reader  must  already 
feel  perfectly  assured,  had  not  the  weakness  of  snobbishness 
or  parasitism  in  any  form  whatever ;  and  if  he  liked  to  go  to 
Wenderholme  with  the  Colonel,  it  was  not  because  there  was 
an  earl's  daughter  there,  and  the  sacred  odor  of  aristocracy 
about  the  place,  but  rather  because  he  had  a  genuine  pleasure 
in  the  society  of  his  friend,  whether  amongst  the  splendors  of 
Wenderholme,  or  in  the  parlor  of  the  inn  at  Sootythorn. 

The  Colonel,  too,  on  his  part,  liked  the  Doctor,  though  he 
laughed  at  him,  and  mimicked  him  to  Lady  Helena.  The 
mimicry  was  not,  however,  very  successful,  for  the  Doctor's 
Lancashire  dialect  was  too  perfect  and  too  pure  for  any  mere 
ultramontane  (that  is,  creature  living  beyond  the  hills  that 
guarded  the  Shayton  valley)  to  imitate  with  any  approxima 
tion  to  success.  If  the  Colonel,  however,  notwithstanding 
all  his  study  and  effort,  could  not  succeed  in  imitating  the 
Doctor's  happy  selection  of  expressions  and  purity  of  style, 


Chap.  VIII.  From  Sootythorn  to  Wenderkolme.        71 

he  could  at  any  rate  give  him  a  nickname  —  so  he  called 
him  Hoftens,  not  to  his  face,  but  to  Lady  Helena  at  home, 
and  to  the  adjutant,  and  to  one  or  two  other  people  who 
knew  him,  and  the  nickname  became  popular ;  and,  after  a 
while,  the  officers  called  Dr.  Bardly  Hoftens  to  his  face, 
which  he  took  with  perfect  good-nature.  The  first  time  that 
this  occurred,  the  Doctor  (such  was  the  delicacy  of  his  ear) 
believed  he  detected  something  unusual  in  the  way  an  impu- 
dent ensign  pronounced  the  word  often,  and  asked  what  he 
meant,  on  which  the  adjutant  interposed,  and  said,  —  "Don't 
mind  his  impudence.  Doctor ;  he  's  mimicking  you."  "  Well," 
said  the  Doctor,  simply,  "  I  wasn't  aware  that  there  was  hany 
thing  peculiar  in  my  pronunciation  of  the  word,  but  people 
hoftens  are  unaware  of  their  own  defects."     But  we  anticipate. 

They  lunched  at  the  Thorn  with  the  adjutant,  a  fair-haired 
and  delicate-looking  little  gentleman  of  exceedingly  mild  and 
quiet  manners,  whose  acquaintance  the  Doctor  had  made 
very  recently.  Captain  Eureton  had  retired  a  year  or  two 
before  from  the  regular  army,  and  was  now  living  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Sootythorn  with  his  old  mother  whom  he 
loved  with  his  whole  heart.  He  had  never  married,  and  now 
there  was  little  probability  of  his  ever  marr)-ing.  The  people 
of  Sootythorn  would  have  set  him  down  as  a  milk-sop  if  he 
had  not  seen  a  good  deal  of  active  service  in  India  and  at 
the  Cape  ;  but  a  soldier  who  has  been  baptized  in  the  fire  of 
the  battle-field  has  always  that  fact  in  his  favor,  and  has 
little  need  to  give  himself  airs  of  boldness  in  order  to  impose 
upon  the  imagination  of  civilians. 

"  I  believe,  Dr.  Bardly,"  said  Eureton,  "  that  we  are  going 
to  have  an  officer  from  your  neighborhood,  a  Mr.  Ogden. 
His  name  has  been  put  down  for  a  lieutenant's  commission." 

"  Yes,  he  's  a  neighbor  of  mine,"  answered  the  Doctor, 
rather  curtly. 

"  You  should  have  brought  him  with  you,  Doctor,"  said 
Colonel  Stanburne,  "that  we  might  make  his  acquaintance. 


72  Wender holme,  part  i. 

I  've  never  seen  him,  j'ou  know,  and  he  gets  his  commission 
on  your  recommendation.  I  should  like,  as  far  as  possible, 
to  know  the  officers  personally  before  we  meet  for  our  first 
training.  What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  Mr.  Ogden?  Tell  us  all 
about  him." 

The  Doctor  felt  slightly  embarrassed,  and  showed  it  in 
his  manner.  Any  true  description  of  Isaac  Ogden,  as  he 
was  just  then,  must  necessarily  seem  very  unfavorable.  Dr. 
Bardly  had  been  to  Twistle  that  very  morning  before  day- 
light, and  had  found  Mr.  Ogden  suffering  from  the  effects  of 
that  fall  down  the  cellar-steps  in  a  state  of  drunkenness. 
The  Doctor  had  that  day  abandoned  all  hope  of  reclaiming 
Isaac  Ogden,  and  saving  him  from  the  fate  that  awaited  him. 

"  I  've  nothing  good  to  tell  of  Mr.  Ogden,  Colonel  Stan- 
burne.  I  wish  I  hadn't  recommended  him  to  you.  He  's  an 
irreclaimable  drunkard  ! " 

"  Well,  if  you  'd  known  it  you  wouldn't  have  recommended 
him,  of  course.  You  found  it  out  since,  I  suppose.  You 
must  try  and  persuade  him  to  resign.  Tell  him  there  '11  be 
some  awfully  hard  work,  especially  for  lieutenants." 

"I  knew  that  he  drank  occasionally,  but  I  believed  that  it 
was  because  he  had  nobody  to  talk  to  except  a  drunken  set 
at  the  Red  Lion  at  Shayton.  I  thought  that  if  he  came  into 
the  regiment  it  would  do  him  good,  by  bringing  him  into  more 
society.  Shayton  's  a  terrible  place  for  drinking.  There  's  a 
great  difference  between  Shayton  and  Sootythorn." 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  in  other  respects .''  "  asked  the 
Colonel. 

"  He  's  right  enough  for  every  thing  else.  He  's  a  good- 
looking  fellow,  tall,  and  well-built ;  and  he  used  to  be  pleas- 
ant and  good-tempered,  but  now  his  nervous  system  must  be 
shattered,  and  I  would  not  answer  for  him." 

"If  you  still  think  he  would  have  sufficient  control  over 
himself  to  keep  sober  for  a  month  we  might  try  him,  and 
see  whether  we  cannot  do  him  some  good.     Perhaps,  as  you 


Chap.  VIII.  From  Sooty tJiorn  to  Wendevholme.        73 

thought,  it 's  only  want  of  society  that  drives  him  to  amuse 
himself  by  drinking.  Upon  my  word,  I  think  I  should  take 
to  drinking  myself  if  I  lived  all  the  year  round  in  such  a 
place  as  Sootythorn  —  and  I  suppose  Shayton 's  no  better." 

Captain  Eureton,  who  was  simple  and  even  abstemious  in 
his  way  of  living,  and  whose  appetite  had  not  been  sharpened, 
like  that  of  the  Doctor,  by  a  long  drive  in  the  morning,  fin- 
ished his  lunch  in  about  ten  minutes,  and  excused  himself 
on  the  plea  that  he  had  an  appointment  with  a  joiner  about 
the  onlerly-room,  which  had  formerly  been  an  infant-school 
of  some  Dissenting  persuasion,  and  therefore  required  re- 
modelling as  to  its  interior  fittings.  We  shall  see  more  of 
him  in  due  time,  but  for  the  present  must  leave  him  to  the 
tranquil  happiness  of  devising  desks  and  pigeon-holes  in 
company  with  an  intelligent  workman,  than  which  few  occu- 
pations can  be  more  delightful. 

"  Perhaps,  unless  you  've  something  to  detain  you  in  Sooty- 
thorn,  Doctor,  we  should  do  well  to  leave  here  as  early  as 
possible.  It 's  a  long  drive  to  Wenderholme  —  twenty  miles, 
you  know  ;  ancT  I  always  make  a  point  of  giving  the  horses 
a  rest  at  Rigton." 

As  the  Doctor  had  nothing  to  do  in  Sootythorn,  the  Colonel 
ordered  his  equipage.  When  he  drove  alone,  he  always  pre- 
ferred a  tandem,  but  when  Lady  Helena  accompanied  him, 
he  took  his  seat  in  a  submissive  matrimonial  manner  in  the 
family  carriage.  As  Wenderholme  was  so  far  from  Sooty- 
thorn, the  Colonel  kept  two  pairs  of  horses  ;  and  one  pair 
was  generally  at  Wenderholme  and  the  other  in  Mr.  Garley's 
stables,  where  the  Colonel  had  a  groom  of  his  own  perma- 
nently. The  only  inconvenience  of  this  arrangement  was 
that  the  same  horses  had  to  do  duty  in  the  tandem  and  the 
carriage  ;  but  they  did  it  on  the  whole  fairly  well,  and  the 
Colonel  contented  himself  with  the  carriage-horses,  so  far  as 
driving  was  concerned. 

The  Doctor  drove  his  own  gig  with  the  degree   of  skill 


74  Wendcr holme.  part  i. 

which  results  from  the  practice  of  many  years  ;  but  he  had 
never  undertaken  the  government  of  a  tandem,  and  felt,  per- 
haps, a  slight  shade  of  anxiety  when  John  Stanburne  took  the 
reins,  and  they  set  off  at  full  trot  through  the  streets  of  Sooty- 
thorn.  A  manufacturing  town,  in  that  particular  stage  of  its 
development,  is  one  of  the  most  awkward  of  all  possible  places 
to  drive  in  —  the  same  street  varies  so  much  in  breadth  that 
you  never  can  tell  whether  there  will  be  room  enough  to  pass 
when  you  get  round  the  corner  ;  an?t  there  are  alarming 
noises  of  many  kinds  —  the  roar  of  a  cotton-mill  in  the 
street  itself,  or  the  wonderfully  loud  hum  of  a  foundry,  or  the 
incessant  clattering  hammer-strokes  of  a  boiler-making  estab- 
lishment —  which  excite  and  bewilder  a  nervous  horse,  till,  if 
manageable  at  all,  he  is  manageable  only  with  the  utmost 
delicacy  and  care.  As  Colonel  Stanburne  seemed  to  have 
quite  enough  to  do  to  soothe  and  restrain  his  leader,  the 
Doctor  said  nothing  till  they  got  clear  of  the  last  street  ;  but 
once  out  on  the  broad  turnpike,  or  "  Yorkshire  Road,"  the 
Colonel  gave  his  team  more  freedom,  and  himself  relaxed 
from  the  rigid  accuracy  of  seat  he  had  hitherto  maintained. 
He  then  turned  to  the  Doctor,  and  began  to  talk. 

"  I  say.  Doctor,  why  don't  you  drive  a  tandem  ?  You  —  you 
ought  to  drive  a  tandem.  Ton  my  word  you  ought,  seriously, 
now." 

The  Doctor  laughed.  He  didn't  see  the  necessity  or  the 
duty  of  driving  a  tandem,  and  so  begged  to  have  these  points 
explained  to  him. 

"  Well,  because,  don't  you  see,  when  you  've  only  got  one 
horse  in  your  dog-cart,  or  gig,  or  whatever  two-wheeled  vehicle 
you  may  possess,  you  've  no  fun,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

The  Doctor  didn't  see,  or  did  not  seem  to  see. 

"  I  mean,"  proceeded  the  Colonel,  explanatorily,  "  that  you 
haven't  that  degree  of  anxiety  which  is  necessary  to  give  a 
zest  to  existence.  Now,  when  you've  a  leader  who  is  almost 
perfectly  free,  and  over  whom  you  can  only  exercise  a  control 


Chav.  V  ill.  From  Soolyikorn  1 0  Wenderholnie.       75 

of — the  most  gentle  and  persuasive  kind,  you're  always 
slightly  anxious,  and  sometimes  you  're  very  anxious.  For 
instance,  last  time  we  drove  back  from  Sootythorn  it  was 
pitch  dark,  —  wasn't  it,  Fyser  ?  " 

Here  Colonel  Stanburne  turned  to  his  groom,  who  was 
sitting  behind  ;  and  Fyser,  as  might  be  expected,  muttered 
something  confirmatory  of  his  master's  statement. 

"  It  was  pitch  dark  ;  and,  by  George !  the  candles  in  the 
lamps  were  too  short  to  last  us  ;  and  that  confounded  Fyser 
forgot  to  provide  himself  with  fresh  ones  before  he  left  Sooty- 
thorn,  and  —  didn't  you,  Fyser  ?  " 

Fyser  confessed  his  negligence. 

"  And  so,  when  the  lamps  were  out,  it  was  pitch  dark ;  so 
dark  that  I  couldn't  tell  the  road  from  the  ditch  —  upon  my 
word,  I  couldn't ;  and  I  couldn't  see  the  leader  a  bit,  I  could 
only  feel  him  with  the  reins.  So  I  said  to  Fyser,  '  Get  over 
to  the  front  seat,  and  then  crouch  down  as  low  as  you  can,  so 
as  to  bring  the  horses'  heads  up  against  the  sky,  and  tell  me 
if  you  can  see  them.'  So  Fyser  crouched  down  as  I  told  him  ; 
and  when  I  asked  him  if  he  saw  any  thing,  he  said  he  did 
think  he  saw  the  leader's  ears.  Well,  damn  it,  then,  if  you 
do  see  'em,  I  said,  keep  your  eye  on  'em." 

"  And  were  you  going  fast  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  Why,  of  course  we  were.  We  were  trotting  at  the  rate  of, 
I  should  say,  about  nine  miles  an  hour  ;  but  after  a  while, 
Fyser,  by  hard  looking,  began  to  see  rather  more  distinctly  — 
so  distinctly  that  he  clearly  made  out  the  difference  between 
the  horses'  heads  and  the  hedges  ;  and  he  kept  calling  out 
'  right,  sir,'  '  left,  sir,'  '  all  right,  sir,'  and  so  he  kept  me 
straight.  If  he  'd  been  a  sailor  he  'd  have  said  '  starboard ' 
and  '  port ; '  but  Fyser  isn't  a  sailor." 

"  And  did  you  get  safe  to  Wenderholme  ?  " 

"  Of  course  we  did.  Fyser  and  I  always  get  safe  to  Wen- 
derholme." 

"  I  shouldn't  recommend  you  to  try  that  experiment  hoftens." 


76  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

"Well,  but  you  see  the  advantage  of  driving  tandem.  If 
you  've  only  one  horse  you  know  where  he  is,  however  dark  it 
is  —  he  's  in  the  shafts,  of  course,  and  you  know  where  to  find 
him  :  but  when  you  've  got  a  leader  you  never  exactly  know 
where  he  is,  unless  you  can  see  him." 

The  Doctor  didn't  see  the  advantage. 

The  reader  will  have  gathered  from  this  specimen  of  Colonel 
Stanburne's  conversation  that  he  was  a  pleasant  and  lively 
companion  ;  but  if  he  is  rather  hasty  in  forming  his  opinion 
of  people  on  a  first  acquaintance,  he  may  also  infer  that  the 
Colonel  was  a  man  of  somewhat  frivolous  character  and  very 
moderate  intellectual  powers.  He  certainly  was  not  a  genius, 
but  he  conveyed  the  impression  of  being  less  intelligent  and 
less  capable  of  serious  thought  than  nature  had  made  him. 
His  predominant  characteristic  was  simple  good-nature,  and 
he  possessed  also,  notwithstanding  a  sort  of  swagger  in  his 
manner,  an  unusual  share  of  genuine  intellectual  humility,  that 
made  him  contented  to  pass  for  a  less  able  and  less  informed 
man  than  he  really  was.  The  Doctor's  perception  of  charac- 
ter was  too  acute  to  allow  him  to  judge  Colonel  Stanburne 
on  the  strength  of  a  superficial  acquaintance,  and  he  clearly 
perceived  that  his  friend  was  in  the  habit  of  wearing,  as  it 
were,  his  lighter  nature  outside.  Some  ponderous  Philistines 
in  Sootythorn,.who  had  been  brought  into  occasional  contact 
with  the  Colonel,  and  who  confounded  gravity  of  manner 
with  mental  capacity,  had  settled  it  amongst  themselves  that 
he  had  no  brains  ;  but  as  the  most  intelligent  of  quadrupeds 
is  at  the  same  time  the  most  lively,  the  most  playful,  the  most 
good-natured,  and  the  most  affectionate,  —  so  amongst  human 
"beings  it  does  not  always  follow  that  a  man  is  empty  because 
he  is  lively  and  amusing,  and  seems  merry  and  careless,  and 
says  and  does  some  foolish  things. 

An  hour  later  they  reached  Rigton,  a  little  dull  village 
quite  out  of  the  manufacturing  district,  and  where  it  was  the 
Colonel's  custom  to  bait.     The  remainder  of  the  drive  was  in 


QnKv.viw.  Froifi  Sooty  thorn  to  We7ider holme.        "j"] 

summer  exceedingly  beautiful ;  but  as  it  passed  through  a  rich 
agricultural  country,  whose  beauty  depended  chiefly  on  luxuri- 
ant vegetation,  the  present  time  of  the  year  was  not  favorable  to 
it.  All  this  region  had  a  great  reputation  for  beauty  amongst 
the  inhabitants  of  the  manufacturing  towns,  and  no  doubt  fully 
deserved  it ;  but  it  is  probable  that  their  faculties  of  appre- 
cialion  were  greatly  sharpened  by  the  stimulus  of  contrast. 
To  get  fairly  clear  of  factory-smoke,  to  be  in  the  peaceful 
quitit  country,  and  see  no  buildings  but  picturesque  farms,  was 
a  definite  happiness  to  many  an  inhabitant  of  Sootythorn. 
There  were  fine  bits  of  scenery  in  the  manufacturing  district 
itself  —  picturesque  glens  and  gorges,  deep  ravines  with  hid- 
den rivulets,  and  stretches  of  purple  moorland  \  but  all  this 
scenery  lacked  one  quality  —  amenity.  Now  the  scenery  from 
Rigton  to  Wenderholme  had  this  quality  in  a  very  high  degree 
indeed,  and  it  was  instantly  felt  by  every  one  who  came  from 
the  manufacturing  district,  though  not  so  perceptible  by  trav- 
ellers from  the  south  of  England.  The  Sootythorn  people 
felt  a  soothing  influence  on  the  nervous  system  when  they 
drove  through  this  beautiful  land  ;  their  minds  relaxed  and 
were  relieved  of  pressing  cares,  and  they  here  fell  into  a  state 
very  rare  indeed  with  them  —  a  state  of  semi-poetical  reverie. 
The  reader  is  already  aware  that  Wenderholme  is  situated 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hills  which  separate  Shayton  from 
this  favored  region,  and  close  to  the  foot  of  them.  Great 
alterations  have  been  made  in  the  house  since  the  date  at 
which  our  story  begins,  and  therefore  we  will  not  describe  it 
as  it  exists  at  present,  but  as  it  existed  when  the  Colonel 
drove  up  the  avenue  with  the  Doctor  at  his  side,  and  the  faith- 
ful Fyser  jumped  up  behind  after  opening  the  modest  green 
gate.  A  large  rambling  house,  begun  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  but  grievously  modernized  under  that  of  King 
George  the  Third,  it  formed  three  sides  of  a  quadrangle,  and, 
as  is  usual  in  that  arrangement  of  a  mansion,  had  a  great  hall 
in  the  middle,  and  the  principal  reception  rooms  on  each  side 


yS  WenderJiolme.  Part  i 

on  the  ground  floor.  The  house  was  three  stories  high,  and 
there  were  great  numbers  of  bedrooms.  An  arched  porch  in 
the  centre,  preceded  by  a  flight  of  steps,  gave  entrance  at 
once  to  the  hall ;  and  over  the  porch  was  a  projection  of  the 
same  breadth,  continued  up  to  the  roof,  and  terminated  in  a 
narrow  gable.  This  had  been  originally  the  centre  of  enrich- 
ment, and  there  had  been  some  good  sculpture  and  curious 
windows  that  went  all  round  the  projection,  and  carried  it  en- 
tirely upon  their  mullions  ;  but  the  modernizer  had  been  at 
work  and  inserted  simple  sash-windows,  which  produced  a 
deplorable  effect.  The  same  owner,  John  Stanburne's  grand- 
father, had  ruthlessly  carried  out  that  piece  of  Vandalism  over 
the  whole  front  of  the  mansion,  and,  except  what  architects 
call  a  string-course  (which  was  still  traceable  here  and  there), 
had  effaced  every  feature  that  gave  expression  to  the  original 
design  of  the  Elizabethan  builder. 

The  entrance-hall  was  a  fine  room  fifty  feet  long,  and  as 
high  as  two  of  the  ordinary  stories  in  the  mansion.  It  had,  no 
doubt,  been  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  Elizabethan  hall ;  but 
the  modernizer  had  been  hard  at  work  here  also,  and  had  put 
himself  to  heavy  expense  in  order  to  give  it  the  aspect  of  a 
thoroughly  modern  interior.  The  wainscot  which  had  once 
adorned  the  walls,  and  which  had  been  remarkable  for  its 
rich  and  fanciful  carving,  the  vast  and  imaginative  tapestries, 
the  heraldic  blazonries  in  the  flaming  oriels,  the  gallery  for 
the  musicians  on  twisted  pillars  of  sculptured  chestnut,  —  all 
these  glories  had  been  ruthlessly  swept  away.  The  tapestries 
had  been  used  as  carpets,  and  worn  out ;  the  wainscot  had 
been  made  into  kitchen  cupboards,  and  painted  lead-color  ; 
and  the  magnificent  windows  had  been  thrown  down  on  the 
floor  of  a  garret,  where  they  had  been  trodden  under  foot  and 
crushed  into  a  thousand  fragments:  and  in  place  of  these 
things,  which  the  narrow  taste  of  the  eighteenth  century  had 
condemned  as  barbarous,  and  destroyed  without  either  hesita- 
tion or  regret,  it  had  substituted  —  what  t —  absolute  emptiness 


QnKv.Miw.  From  Sootythorn  to  Wenderholme.         79 

and  negation  ;  for  the  heraldic  oriels,  sash-windows  of  the 
commonest  glass  ;  for  the  tapestry  and  carving,  a  bare  wall  of 
yellow-washed  plaster ;  for  the  carved  beams  of  the  roof,  a 
blank  area  of  whitewash. 

The  Doctor  found  Lady  Helena  in  the  drawing-room  ;  a 
little  woman,  who  sometimes  looked  very  pretty,  and  some- 
times exceedingly  plain,  according  to  the  condition  of  her 
health  and  temper,  the  state  of  the  weather,  and  a  hundred 
things  beside.  Hence  there  were  the  most  various  and  con- 
tradictory opinions  about  her  ;  the  only  approach  to  unanim- 
ity being  amongst  certain  elderly  ladies  who  had  formed  the 
project  of  being  mother-in-law  to  John  Stanburne,  and  failed 
in  that  design.  The  Doctor  was  not  much  accustomed  to 
ladyships  —  they  did  not  come  often  in  his  way ;  indeed,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  Lady  Helena  was  the  only  specimen  of  the 
kind  he  had  ever  enjoyed  the  opportunity  of  studying,  and  he 
had  been  rather  surprised,  on  one  or  two  preceding  visits  to 
Wenderholme,  to  find  that  she  behaved  so  nicely.  But  there 
are  ladyships  and  ladyships,  and  the  Doctor  had  been  for- 
tunate in  the  example  which  chance  had  thrown  in  his  way. 
For  instance,  if  he  had  known  Lady  Eleanor  Griffin,  who 
lived  about  ten  miles  from  Wenderholme,  and  came  there 
occasionally  to  spend  the  day,  the  Doctor  would  have  formed 
quite  a  different  opinion  of  ladyships  in  general,  so  much  do 
our  impressions  of  whole  classes  depend  upon  the  individual 
members  of  them  who  are  personally  known  to  us. 

Lady  Helena  asked  the  Doctor  a  good  many  questions 
about  Shayton,  which  it  is  quite  unnecessary  to  report  here, 
because  the  answers  to  them  would  convey  no  information  to 
the  reader  which  he  does  not  already  possess.  Her  ladyship 
inquired  very  minutely  about  the  clergyman  there,  and  whether 
the  Doctor  "liked"  him.  Now  the  verb  "to  like,"  when  ap- 
plied to  a  clergyman,  is  used  in  a  special  sense.  Everybody 
knows  that  to  like  a  clergyman  and  to  like  gooseberry-pie  are 
ver}'  difTerent  things  ;  for  nobody  in  England  eats  clergyman, 


8o  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

though  the  natives  of  New  Zealand  are  said  to  appreciate  cold 
roast  missionary.  But  there  is  yet  another  distinction  — 
there  is  a  distinction  between  liking  a  clergyman  and  liking 
a  layman.  If  you  say  you  like  a  clergyman,  it  is  understood 
that  it  gives  you  a  peculiar  pleasure  to  hear  him  preach,  and 
that  you  experience  feelings  of  gratification  when  he  reads 
prayers.  And  in  this  sense  could  Dr,  Bardly  say  that  he 
liked  the  reverend  incumbent  of  his  parish  ?  certainly  not ; 
so  he  seemed  to  hesitate  a  little  —  and  if  he  said  "yes"  he 
said  it  as  if  he  meant  no^  or  a  sort  of  vague,  neutral  answer, 
neither  negative  nor  affirmative. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Lady  Helena,  "  do  you  like  him  as  a 
preacher  ? " 

"  Upon  my  word,  it 's  so  long  since  I  heard  him  preach 
that  I  cannot  give  an  opinion." 

"  Oh  !  I  thought  you  attended  his  church.  There  are  other 
churches  in  Shayton,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  there  's  only  one,"  said  the  imprudent  and  impolitic 
Doctor. 

Lady  Helena  began  to  think  he  was  some  sort  of  a 
Dissenter.  She  had  heard  of  Dissenters  —  she  knew  that 
such  people  existed  —  but  she  had  never  been  brought  into 
contact  with  one,  and  it  made  her  feel  rather  queer.  She 
felt  strongly  tempted  to  ask  what  place  of  worship  this  man 
did  attend,  since  by  his  own  confession  he  never  went  to  his 
parish  church  ;  but  curiosity,  and  the  natural  female  tendency 
to  be  an  inquisitor,  were  kept  in  check  by  politeness,  and 
also,  perhaps,  a  little  restrained  by  the  perfectly  fearless 
aspect  of  the  Doctor's  face.  If  he  had  seemed  in  the  least 
alarmed  or  apologetic,  her  ladyship  would  probably  have 
assumed  the  functions  of  the  inquisitor  at  once ;  but  he 
looked  so  cool,  and  so  very  capable  of  a  prolonged  and 
vigorous  resistance,  that  Lady  Helena  retired.  When  she 
began  to  talk  about  Mrs.  Prigley,  the  Doctor  knew  that  she 
was  already  in  full  retreat. 


Chap.  VIII.  From  Sooty  thorn  to  Wcnderholme.        8i 

A  little  relieved,  perhaps  (for  it  is  always  disagreeable  to 
quarrel  with  one's  hostess,  even  though  one  has  no  occasion 
to  be  afraid  of  her),  the  Doctor  gladly  told  Lady  Helena  all 
about  Mrs.  Prigley,  and  even  narrated  the  anecdote  about 
the  hole  in  the  carpet,  and  its  consequences  to  Mrs.  Ogden, 
•which  put  Lady  Helena  into  good  humor,  for  nothing,  is  more 
amusing  to  rich  people  than  the  ludicrous  consequences  of 
a  certain  kind  of  poverty.  The  sense  of  a  pleasant  contrast, 
all  in  their  own  favor,  is  delightful  to  them  •  and  when  the 
Doctor  had  told  this  anecdote,  Lady  Helena  became  agree- 
ably aware  that  she  had  carpets,  and  that  her  carpets  had  no 
holes  in  them  —  two  facts  of  which  use  and  custom  had  made 
her  wholly  unconscious.  Her  eye  wandered  with  pleasure 
over  the  broad  soft  surface  of  dark  pomegranate  color,  with 
its  large  white  and  red  flowers  and  its  nondescript  ornaments 
of  imitated  gold,  and  the  ground  seemed  richer,  and  the 
flowers  seemed  whiter  and  redder,  because  poor  Mrs.  Prig- 
ley's  carpets  were  in  a  condition  so  lamentably  different. 

"  Mrs.  Prigley  's  a  relation  of  yours,  Lady  Helena,  —  rather 
a  near  relation,  —  perhaps  you  are  not  aware  of  it  ?  " 

Lady  Helena  looked,  and  was,  very  much  surprised.  "  A 
relation  of  mine.  Dr.  Bardly !  you  must  be  mistaken.  I 
believe  I  know  the  names  of  all  my  relations !  " 

"I  mean  a  relation  of  your  husband  —  of  Colonel  Stan- 
burne.  Mrs.  Prigley  was  a  Miss  Stanburne  of  Byfield,  and 
her  father  was  brother  to  Colonel  Stanburne's  father,  and 
was  born  in  this  house." 

"That's  quite  a  near  relationship  indeed,"  said  Lady 
Helena  ;  "  I  wonder  I  never  heard  of  it.  John  never  spoke 
to  me  about  Mrs.  Prigley." 

"  There  was  a  quarrel  between  Colonel  Stanburne's  father 
and  his  uncle,  and  there  has  been  no  intercourse  between 
their  families  since.  I  daresay  the  Colonel  does  not  even 
know  how  many  cousins  he  had  on  that  side,  or  what  mar- 
riages they  made."     On  this  the  Colonel  came  in. 

6 


82  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

"  John,  dear,  Dr.  Bardly  has  just  told  me  that  we  have 
some  cousins  at  Shayton  that  I  knew  nothing  about.  It 's  the 
clergyman  and  his  wife,  and  their  name  is  Prig  —  Prig"  — 

"  Prigley,"  suggested  the  Doctor. 

"Yes,  Prigley;  isn't  it  curious,  John?  did  you  know  about 
them  ? " 

"  Not  very  accurately.  I  knew  one  of  my  cousins  had 
married  a  clergyman  somewhere  in  that  neighborhood,  but 
was  not  aware  that  he  was  the  incumbent  of  Shayton.  I 
don't  know  my  cousins  at  all.  There  was  a  lawsuit  between 
their  father  and  mine,  and  the  two  branches  have  never  eaten 
salt  together  since.  I  haven't  the  least  ill-will  to  any  of  them, 
but  there's  an  awkwardness  in  making  a  first  step  —  one 
never  can  tell  how  it  may  be  received.  What  do  you  say. 
Doctor?  How  would  Mrs.  Prig  —  Prigley  and  her  husband 
receive  me  if  I  were  to  go  and  call  upon  them  ? " 

"  They  'd  give  you  cake  and  wine." 

"Would  they  really,  now?  Then  I'll  go  and  call  upon 
them.     I  like  cake  and  wine  —  always  liked  cake  and  wine." 

The  conversation  about  the  Prigleys  did  not  end  here. 
The  Doctor  was  well  aware  that  it  would  be  agreeable  to 
Mrs.  Prigley  to  visit  at  Wenderholme,  and  be  received  there 
as  a  relation  ;  and  he  also  knew  that  the  good-nature  of  the 
Colonel  and  Lady  Helena  might  be  relied  upon  to  make 
such  intercourse  perfectly  safe  and  pleasant.  So  he  made 
the  most  of  the  opportunity,  and  that  so  successfully,  that  by 
the  time  dinner  was  announced  both  John  Stanburne  and  his 
wife  had  promised  to  drive  over  some  day  to  Shayton  from 
Sootythorn,  and  lunch  with  the  Doctor,  and  call  at  the 
parsonage  before  leaving. 

Colonel  Stanburne's  conversation  was  not  always  very  pro- 
found, but  his  dinners  were  never  dull,  for  he  would  talk, 
and  make  other  people  talk  too.  He  solemnly  warned  the 
Doctor  not  to  allow  himself  to  be  entrapped  into  giving 
gratuitous   medical    advice    to   Lady   Helena.     "  She    thinks 


Chap.  VIII.  Froiu  Sooiytliom  to  Wenderholme.       83 

she 's  got  fitteen  diseases,  she  does,  upon  my  word  j  and 
she  's  a  sort  of  notion  that  because  you  're  the  regimental 
doctor,  she  has  a  claim  on  you  for  gratuitous  counsel  and 
assistance.  Now  I  consider  that  I  have  such  a  claim  —  if  a 
private  has  it,  surely  a  colonel  has  it  too  -r-  and  when  we 
come  up  for  our  first  training  I  shall  expect  you  to  look  at 
my  tongue,  and  feel  my  pulse,  and  physic  me  as  a  militiaman, 
at  her  Majesty's  expense.  But  it  is  by  no  means  so  clear  to 
me  that  my  wife  has  any  right  to  gratuitous  doctoring,  and 
mind  she  doesn't  extort  it  from  you.  She  's  a  regular  screw, 
my  wife  is  ;  and  she  loses  no  opportunity  of  obtaining  benefits 
for  nothing."  Then  he  rattled  on  with  a  hundred  anecdotes 
about  ladies  and  doctors,  in  which  there  was  just  enough  truth 
to  give  a  pretext  for  his  audacious  exaggerations. 

When  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  the  Colonel  made 
Lady  Helena  sing;  and  she  sang  well.  The  Doctor,  like 
many  inhabitants  of  Shayton,  had  a  very  good  ear,  and 
greatly  enjoyed  music.  Lady  Helena  had  seldom  found  so 
attentive  a  listener  ;  he  sought  old  favorites  of  his  in  her 
collection  of  songs,  and  begged  her  to  sing  them  one  after 
another.  It  seemed  as  if  he  never  would  be  tired  of  listen- 
ing. Her  ladyship  felt  pleased  and  flattered,  and  sang  with 
wonderful  energy  and  feeling.  The  Doctor,  though  in  his 
innocence  he  thought  only  of  the  pure  pleasure  her  music 
gave  him,  could  have  chosen  no  better  means  of  ingratiating 
himself  in  her  favor  ;  and  if  there  had  not,  unhappily,  been 
ti'iat  dark  and  dubious  question  about  church  attendance, 
which  made  her  ladyship  look  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  Dis- 
senter, or  worse,  the  Doctor  would  that  night  have  entered 
into  relations  of  quite  frank  and  cordial  friendship  with  Lady 
Helena.  English  ladies  are  very  kind  and  forgiving  on  many 
points.  A  man  may  be  notoriously  immoral,  or  a  gambler, 
or  a  drinker,  yet  if  he  be  well  off  they  will  kindly  ignore  and 
pass  over  these  little  defects  ;  but  the  unpardonable  sin  is 
failure  in  church  attendance,  and  they  will  not  pass  over  that. 


84  Wenderhohte.  Paut  i. 

Lady  Helena,  in  her  character  of  inquisitor,  had  discovered 
this  symptom  of  heresy,  and  would  have  been  delighted  to 
find  a  moral  screw  of  some  kind  by  which  the  culpable 
Doctor  might  be  driven  churchwards.  If  the  law  had  per- 
mitted it,  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  would  have  applied  mate- 
rial screws,  and  pinched  the  Doctor's  thumbs,  or  roasted  him 
gently  before  a  slow  fire,  or  at  least  sent  him  to  church  be- 
tween two  policemen  with  staves  ;  but  as  these  means  were 
beyond  her  power,  she  must  wait  until  the  moral  screw  could 
be  found.  A  good  practical  means,  which  she  had  resorted  to 
in  several  instances  with  poor  people,  had  been  to  deprive 
them  of  their  means  of  subsistence  ;  and  all  men  and  women 
whom  her  ladyship's  little  arm  could  reach  knew  that  they 
must  go  to  church  or  leave  their  situations  ;  so  they  attended 
with  a  regularity  which,  though  exemplary  in  the  eyes  of  men, 
could  scarcely,  one  would  think  (considering  the  motive),  be 
acceptable  to  Heaven.  But  Lady  Helena  acted  in  this  less 
from  a  desire  to  please  God  than  from  the  instinct  of  domi- 
nation, which,  in  her  character  of  spiritual  ruler,  naturally 
exercised  itself  on  this  point.  It  seldom  happens  that  the 
master  of  a  house  is  the  spiritual  ruler  of  it ;  he  is  the  tem- 
poral power,  not  the  spiritual.  Colonel  Stanburne  felt  and 
knew  that  he  had  no  spiritual  power. 

This  matter  of  the  Doctor's  laxness  as  a  church-goer  had 
been  rankling  in  Lady  Helena's  mind  all  the  time  she  had 
been  singing,  and  when  she  closed  the  piano  she  was  ready 
for  an  attack.  If  the  Doctor  had  been  shivering  blanketless 
in  a  bivouac,  and  she  had  had  the  power  of  giving  him  a 
blanket  or  withholding  it,  she  would  have  offered  it  on  condi- 
tion he  promised  to  go  to  church,  and  she  would  have  with- 
held it  if  he  had  refused  compliance.  But  the  Doctor  had 
blankets  of  his  own,  and  so  could  not  be  touched  through  a 
deprivation  of  blanket.  She  might,  however,  deprive  the  old 
woman  he  had  recommended,  and  at  the  same  time  give  the 
Doctor  a  lesson,  indirectly. 


Chap.  vin.  From  Sootythorn  to  Wenderholme.        85 

"  I  forgot  to  ask  you,  Dr.  Bardly,  whether  the  old  woman 
you  recommended  for  a  blanket  was  a  churchvvoman,  and 
regular  in  her  attendance." 

"  Two  questions  very  easily  answered,"  replied  that  auda- 
cious and  unhesitating  Doctor ;  "  she  is  a  Wesleyan  Metho- 
dist, and  irregular  in  her  attendance." 

"Then  I'm  —  very  sorry — Dr.  Bardly,  but  I  cannot  give 
her  a  blanket,  as  I  had  promised.  I  can  only  give  them  to 
our  —  own  people,  you  know  ;  and  I  make  it  essential  that 
they  should  be  ^ood  church-people  —  I  mean,  very  regular 
church-people." 

"  Very  well ;  I  '11  give  her  a  blanket  myself." 

The  opportunity  was  not  to  be  neglected,  and  her  ladyship 
fired  her  gun.  She  had  the  less  hesitation  in  doing  so,  that 
it  seemed  monstrously  presumptuous  in  a  medical  man  to 
give  blankets  at  all !  What  right  had  he  to  usurp  the  especial 
prerogative  of  great  ladies  ?  And  then  to  give  a  blanket  to 
this  very  woman  whom,  for  good  reasons,  her  ladyship  had 
condemned  to  a  state  of  blanketlessness  ! 

"  I  quite  understand,"  she  said,  with  much  severity  of 
tone,  "  that  Dr.  Bardly,  who  never  attends  public  worship 
himself,  should  have  a  fellow-feeling  with  those  who  are 
equally  negligent." 

It  is  a  hard  task  to  fight  a  woman  in  the  presence  of  her 
husband,  who  is  at  the  same  time  one's  friend.  The  Doctor 
thought,  "  Would  the  woman  have  me  offer  premiums  on  hypoc- 
risy as  she  does  ? "  but  he  did  not  say  so,  because  there  was 
poor  John  Stanburne  at  the  other  end  of  the  hearth-rug  in  a 
state  of  much  uncomfortableness.  So  the  Doctor  said  nothing 
at  all,  and  the  silence  became  perfectly  distressing.  Lady 
Helena  had  a  way  of  her  own  out  of  the  difficulty.  Though 
it  was  an  hour  earlier  than  the  usual  time  for  prayers,  she  rang 
the  bell  and  ordered  all  the  servants  in.  When  they  were 
kneeling,  each  before  his  chair,  her  ladyship  read  the  prayers 


86  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

.lerself,  and  accentuated  with  a  certain  severity  a  paragraph 
in  which  she  thanked  God  that  she  was  not  as  unbelievers, 
who  were  destined  to  perish  everlastingly.  It  was  a  satisfac- 
tion to  Lady  Helena  to  have  the  Doctor  there  down  upon  his 
knees,  with  no  means  of  escape  from  the  expression  of  spir- 
itual superiority. 


Chap.  IX.  The  Fugitive.  87 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    FUGITIVE. 

*'  T  SAY,  Doctor,"  said  John  Stanburne,  when  her  ladyship 

-I-  was  fairly  out  of  hearing,  and  half-way  in  her  ascent  of 
the  great  staircase  —  "I  say,  Doctor,  I  hope  you  don't  mind 
what  Helena  says  about  you  not  being  —  you  know  some 
women  are  so  —  indeed  I  do  believe  all  women  are  so.  They 
seem  laudably  anxious  to  keep  us  all  in  the  right  path,  but 
perhaps  they  're  just  a  little  too  anxious." 

The  Doctor  said  he  believed  Lady  Helena  meant  to  do 
right,  but  —  and  then  he  hesitated. 

"  But  you  don't  see  the  sense  of  bribing  poor  people  into 
sham  piety  with  blankets." 

"Well,  no,  I  don't." 

"  Neither  do  I,  Doctor.  There  's  a  Roman  Catholic  family 
about  three  miles  off,  and  the  lady  there  gives  premiums  on 
going  to  mass,  and  still  higher  premiums  on  confession.  She 
has  won  a  great  many  converts  ;  and  there  's  a  strong  antag- 
onism between  her  and  Helena  —  a  most  expensive  warfare 
it  is  too,  I  assure  you,  this  warfare  for  souls.  However,  it's 
an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good,  and  the  poor  profit  by  it, 
which  is  a  consolation,  only  it  makes  them  sneaks  —  it  makes 
them  sneaks  and  hypocrites.  Doctor,  come  into  my  study, 
will  you,  and  let 's  have  a  weed  1 " 

The  "study,"  as  John  Stanburne  called  it, was  a  cosey little 
room,  with  oak  wainscot  that  his  grandfather  had  painted 
white.  It  contained  a  small  bookcase,  and  the  bookcase  con- 
tained a  good  many  novels,  some  books  of  poetry,  a  treatise 


88  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

on  dog-breaking,  a  treatise  on  driving,  and  a  treatise  on  fish- 
ing. The  novels  were  very  well  selected,  and  so  was  the 
poetry ;  and  John  Stanburne  had  read  all  these  books,  many 
of  them  over  and  over  again.  Such  literary  education  as  he 
possessed  had  been  mainly  got  out  of  that  bookcase  ;  and 
though  he  had  no  claim  to  erudition,  a  man's  head  might  be 
worse  furnished  than  with  such  furniture  as  that.  There  was 
a  splendid  library  at  Wenderholme  —  a  big  room  lined  with 
the  backs  of  books  as  the  other  rooms  were  lined  with  paper 
or  wainscot ;  and  when  Stanburne  wanted  to  know  something 
he  went  there,  and  disturbed  his  ponderous  histories  and  en- 
cyclopaedias ;  but  he  used  the  little  bookcase  more  than  the 
big  library.  He  could  not  read  either  Latin  or  Greek.  Few 
men  can  read  Latin  and  Greek,  and  of  the  few  who  can, 
still  fewer  do  read  them  ;  but  his  French  was  very  much  above 
the  usual  average  of  English  French  —  that  is,  he  spoke  flu- 
ently, and  would  no  doubt  have  spoken  correctly  if  only  he 
could  have  mastered  the  conjugations  and  genders,  and  imi- 
tated the  peculiar  Gallic  sounds. 

The  society  of  ladies  is  always  charming,  but  it  must  be 
admitted  that  there  is  an  hour  especially  dear  to  the  male  sex, 
and  which  does  not  owe  its  delightfulness  to  their  presence. 
It  is  the  hour  of  retirement  into  the  smoking-room.  When  the 
lady  of  the  house  has  a  tendency  to  make  the  weight  of  her 
authority  felt  (and  this  will  sometimes  happen),  the  male  mem- 
bers of  her  family  and  their  guests  feel  a  schoolboyish  sense  of 
relief  in  escaping  from  it ;  but  even  when  she  is  very  genial  and 
pleasant,  and  when  everybody  enjoys  the  light  of  her  counte- 
nance, it  must  also  be  confessed  that  the  timely  withdrawal  of 
that  light,  like  the  hour  of  sunset,  hath  a  certain  sweetness  of 
its  own. 

"  My  wife  's  always  very  good  about  letting  me  sit  here,  and 
smoke  and  talk  as  long  as  I  like  with  my  friends,  after  she's 
gone  to  bed,"  said  Colonel  Stanburne.  "  You  smile  because 
I  seem  to  value  a  sort  of  goodness  that  seems  only  natural, 


Chai».  IX.  The  Fugitive.  89 

but  that 's  on  account  of  your  old-bachelorish  ignorance  of 
womankind.  There  are  married  men  who  no  more  dare  sit 
an  hour  with  a  cigar  when  their  wives  are  gone  to  bed  than 
they  dare  play  billiards  on  Sunday.  Now,  for  instance,  I  was 
staying  this  autumn  with  a  friend  of  mine  in  another  county, 
and  about  ten  o'clock  his  wife  went  to  bed.  He  and  I  wanted 
to  talk  over  a  great  many  things.  We  had  been  old  school- 
fellows, and  we  had  travelled  together  when  we  were  both 
bachelors,  and  we  knew  lots  of  men  that  his  wife  knew  nothing 
about,  and  each  of  us  wanted  to  hear  all  the  news  that  the 
other  had  to  tell ;  so  he  just  ventured,  the  first  night  I  was 
there,  to  ask  me  into  his  private  study  and  offer 'me  a  cigar. 
Well,  we  had  scarcely  had  time  to  light  when  his  wife's  maid 
knocks  at  the  door  and  says,  '  Please,  sir.  Missis  wishes  to  see 
you  ; '  so  he  promised  to  go,  and  began  to  look  uncomfortable, 
and  in  five  minutes  the  girl  came  again,  and  she  came  three 
times  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  After  that  came  the  lady  her- 
self, quite  angry,  and  ordered  her  husband  to  bed,  just  as  if 
he  had  been  a  little  boy  ;  and  though  he  seemed  cool,  and 
didn't  stir  from  his  chair,  it  was  evident  that  he  was  afraid  of 
her,  and  he  solemnly  promised  to  go  in  five  minutes.  At  the 
expiration  of  the  five  minutes  in  she  bursts  again  (she  had 
been  waiting  in  the  passage  —  perhaps  she  may  have  been 
listening  at  the  door),  and  held  out  her  watch  without  one 
word.  The  husband  got  up  like  a  sheep,  and  said  '  Good- 
night, John,'  and  she  led  him  away  just  like  that ;  and  I  sat 
and  smoked  by  myself,  thinking  what  a  pitiable  spectacle  it 
was.  Now  my  wife  is  not  like  that ;  she  will  have  her  way 
about  her  blankets,  but  she  's  reasonable  in  other  respects." 

They  sat  very  happily  for  two  hours,  talking  about  the 
regiment  that  was  to  be.  Suddenly,  about  midnight,  a  large 
watch-dog  that  inhabited  a  kennel  on  that  side  of  the  house 
began  to  bark  furiously,  and  there  was  a  cry,  as  of  some 
woman  or  child  in  distress.  The  Colonel  jumped  out  of  his 
chair,  and  threw  the  window  open.     The  two  men  listened 


90  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

attentively,  but  it  was  too  dark  to  see  any  thing.     At  length 
Colonel  Stanburne  said,   "Let  us  go  out  and  look  about  a. 
little  —  that  was  a  human  cry,  wasn  't  it?"     So  he  lighted  a 
lantern,  and  they  went. 

There  was  a  thick  wood  behind  the  house  of  Wenderholme, 
and  this  wood  filled  a  narrow  ravine,  in  the  bottom  of  which 
was  a  little  stream,  and  by  the  stream  a  pathway  that  led  up 
to  the  open  moor.  This  moor  continued  without  interruption 
over  a  range  of  lofty  hills,  or,  to  speak  more  strictly,  over  a 
sort  of  plateau  or  table-land,  till  it  terminated  at  the  enclosed 
pasture-lands  near  Shayton.  John  Stanburne  and  the  Doctor 
walked  first'along  this  pathway.  The  watch-dog's  kennel  was 
close  to  the  path,  at  a  little  green  wooden  gate,  where  it 
entered  the  garden. 

The  dog,  hearing  his  master's  step,  came  out  of  his  kennel, 
much  excited  with  the  hope  of  a  temporary  release  from  the 
irksomeness  of  his  captivity  ;  but  his  master  only  caressed 
and  spoke  to  him  a  little,  and  passed  on.  Then  he  began  to 
talk  to  the  Doctor.  The  sound  of  his  voice  reached  the  ears 
of  a  third  person,  who  came  out  of  the  wood,  and  began  to 
follow  them  on  the  path. 

The  Doctor  became  aware  that  they  were  followed,  and 
they  stopped.  The  Colonel  turned  his  lantern,  and  the  light 
of  it  fell  full  upon  the  intruder. 

"  Why,  it 's  a  mere  child,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  But  what  on 
earth  's  the  matter  with  the  Doctor  ? " 

Certainly  that  eccentric  Doctor  did  behave  in  a  most 
remarkable  manner.  He  snatched  the  lantern  from  the 
Colonel's  hand  without  one  word  of  apology,  and  having 
cast  its  beams  on  the  child's  face,  threw  it  down  on  the 
ground,  and  seized  the  vagrant  in  his  arms.  "  The  Doctor's 
mad,"  thought  the  Colonel,  as  he  picked  up  the  lantern. 

"  Why,  //  'j  little  Jacob  I"  cried  Dr.  Bardly. 

But  this  conveyed  notliing  to  the  mind  of  the  Colonel. 
What  did  he  know  about  little  Jacob? 


Chap.  IX.  The  Fugitive.  9 1 

Meanwhile  the  lad  was  telling  his  tale  to  his  friend. 
Father  had  beaten  him  so,  and  he  'd  run  away.  "  Please, 
Doctor,  don't  send  me  back  again."  The  child's  feet  were 
bare,  and  icy  cold,  and  covered  with  blood.  His  clothes  were 
wet  up  to  the  waist.     His  little  dog  was  with  him. 

"  It 's  a  little  boy  that 's  a  most  particular  friend  of  mine,"  said 
the  Doctor ;  "  and  he  's  been  very  ill-used.  We  must  take 
care  of  him.   I  must  beg  a  night's  lodging  for  him  in  the  house." 

They  took  him  into  the  Colonel's  study,  before  the  glowing 
fire.  "  Now,  what 's  to  be  done  ?  "  said  the  Colonel.  "  It 's 
lucky  you  're  a  doctor." 

"  Let  us  undress  him  and  warm  him  first.  We  can  do  eveiy 
thing  ourselves.  There  is  a  most  urgent  reason  why  no  domes- 
tic should  be  informed  of  his  being  here.  His  existence  here 
must  be  kept  secret." 

The  Colonel  went  to  his  dressing-room  and  brought  towels. 
Then  he  set  some  water  on  the  fire  in  a  kettle.  The  Doctor 
took  the  wet  things  off,  and  examined  the  poor  little  lacerated 
feet.  He  rubbed  little  Jacob  all  over  with  the  towels  most 
energetically.  The  Colonel,  whose  activity  was  admirable  to 
witness,  fetched  a  tub  from  somewhere,  and  they  made 
arrangements  for  a  warm  bath. 

"  One  person  must  be  told  about  this,"  said  Dr.  Bardly, 
"  and  that 's  Lady  Helena.  Go  and  tell  her  now.  Ask  her 
to  get  up  and  come  here,  and  warn  her  not  to  rouse  any  of 
the  servants." 

Her  ladyship  made  her  appearance  in  a  few  minutes  in  a 
dressing-gown.  "  Lady  Helena,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  you  're 
wanted  as  a  nurse.  This  child  requires  great  care  for  the 
next  twenty-four  hours,  and  you  must  do  every  thing  for  him 
with  your  own  hands.  Is  there  a  place  in  the  house  where 
he  can  be  lodged  out  of  the  way  of  the  servants  ?  " 

Lady  Helena  had  no  boys  of  her  own.  She  had  had  one 
little  girl  at  the  beginning  of  her  married  life,  who  had  lived, 
and  was  now  at  Wenderholme,  comfortably  sleeping  in  the 


92  Wender holme.  Part  i 

prettiest  of  little  beds,  in  a  large  and  healthy  nursery  in  the 
left  wing  of  the  building.  She  had  had  two  little  boys  since, 
but  they  were  both  sleeping  in  Wenderholme  churchyard. 
When  she  saw  little  Jacob  in  his  tub,  the  tears  came  into  her 
eyes,  and  she  was  ready  to  be  his  nurse  as  long  as  ever  he 
might  have  need  of  her. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  him.  Lady  Helena,  when  we  've  put 
him  to  bed." 

Little  Jacob  sat  in  his  tub  looking  at  the  kind,  strange  lady, 
and  feeling  himself  in  a  state  of  unrealizable  bliss.  "  You 
must  be  very  tired  and  very  hungry,  my  poor  child,"  she  said. 
Little  Jacob  said  he  was  very  hungry,  but  he  didn't  feel  tired 
now.  He  had  felt  tired  in  the  wood,  but  he  didn't  feel  tired 
now  in  the  tub. 

The  boy  being  fairly  put  to  bed,  female  curiosity  could  not 
wait  till  the  next  day,  and  she  sought  out  the  Doctor,  who  was 
still  with  the  Colonel  in  his  study.  "  I  beg  to  be  excused, 
gentlemen,"  she  said,  "  for  intruding  in  this  room  in  an  unauth- 
orized manner,  but  I  want  to  know  all  about  that  little  boy." 

The  Doctor  told  his  history  very  minutely,  and  the  history 
of  his  father.  Then  he  added,  "  I  believe  the  only  possible 
chance  of  saving  his  father  from  killing  himself  with  drinking 
is  to  leave  him  for  some  time  under  the  impression  that  the 
boy,  having  been  driven  away  by  his  cruelty,  has  died  from 
exposure  on  the  moor.  This  may  give  him  a  horror  of  drink- 
ing, and  may  effect  a  permanent  cure.  There  is  another 
thing  to  be  considered,  the  child's  own  safety.  If  we  send 
him  back  to  his  father,  I  will  not  answer  for  his  life.  The 
father  is  already  in  a  state  of  hirritability  bordering  on  insan- 
ity—  in  fact  he  is  partially  insane;  and  if  the  child  is  put 
under  his  power  before  there  has  been  time  to  work  a  thorough 
cure,  it  is  likely  that  he  will  beat  him  frequently  and  severely  — 
he  may  even  kill  him  in  some  paroxysm  of  rage.  If  Isaac 
Ogden  knew  that  the  child  were  here,  and  claimed  him  to- 
morrow, I  believe  it  would  be  your  duty  not  to  give  him  up,  and 


Chap.  IX.  The  Fugitive.  93 

I  should  urge  his  uncle  to  institute  legal  proceedings  to 
deprive  the  father  of  the  guardianship.  A  man  in  Isaac 
Ogden's  state  is  not  fit  to  have  a  child  in  his  power.  He  has 
beaten  him  very  terribly  already,  —  his  body  is  all  bruises; 
and  now  if  we  send  him  back,  he  will  beat  him  again  for 
having  run  away." 

These  reasons  certainly  had  great  weight,  but  both  the 
Colonel  and  Lady  Helena  foresaw  much  difficulty  in  keeping 
the  child  at  Wenderholme  without  his  presence  there  becom- 
ing immediately  known.  His  disappearance  would  make 
a  noise,  not  only  at  Shayton,  but  at  Sootythorn,  and  every- 
where in  the  neighborhood.  The  relations  of  the  child  were 
in  easy  circumstances,  and  a  heavy  reward  would  probably 
be  offered,  which  the  servants  at  Wenderholme  Hall  could 
scarcely  be  expected  to  resist,  still  less  the  villagers  in  the 
neighboring  hamlet.  It  would  be  necessary  to  find  some  very 
solitary  person,  living  in  great  obscurity,  to  whose  care  little 
Jacob  might  be  safely  confided  —  at  any  rate,  for  a  few  days. 
Lady  Helena  suggested  two  old  women  who  lived  together  in 
a  sort  of  almshouse  of  hers  on  the  estate,  but  the  Colonel  said 
they  were  too  fond  of  gossip,  and  received  too  many  visitors, 
to  be  trusted.  At  last  the  Doctor's  countenance  suddenly 
brightened,  and  he  said  that  he  knew  where  to  hide  little  Jacob, 
but  where  that  was  he  positively  refused  to  tell.  All  he  asked 
for  was,  that  the  child  should  be  kept  a  close  prisoner  in  the 
Colonel's  sanctum  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours,  and  that  the 
Colonel  would  lend  him  a  horse  and  gig  —  not  a  tandem. 


94  Wenderholme.  Tart  i 


CHAPTER   X. 

CHRISTMAS   AT   MILEND. 

IT  is  quite  unnecessary  to  inform  the  reader  where  Dr.  Bardly 
had  determined  to  hide  little  Jacob.  His  resolution  be- 
ing decidedly  taken,  the  Colonel  and  he  waited  till  the  next 
night  at  half-past  twelve,  and  then,  without  the  help  of  a  single 
servant,  they  harnessed  a  fast-trotting  mare  to  a  roomy  dog- 
cart. Little  Jacob  and  Feorach  were  put  where  the  dogs 
were  kept  on  shooting  expeditions.  And  both  fell  asleep 
together.  It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  Doctor 
arrived  at  his  destination. 

Mr.  Isaac  Ogden,  whose  wretchedness  the  reader  pities 
perhaps  as  much  as  the  Doctor  did,  continued  his  researches 
for  some  weeks  in  a  discouraged  and  desultory  way,  but  little 
Jacob  was  perfectly  well  hidden.  Mrs.  Ogden  had  been 
admitted  into  the  secret  by  the  Doctor,  and  approved  of  his 
policy  of  concealment.  Under  pretext  of  a  journey  to  Man- 
chester with  Dr.  Bardly,  to  consult  an  eminent  physician 
there,  she  absented  herself  two  days  from  Milend  and  went 
to  visit  her  grandson.  The  truth  was  also  known  to  Jacob 
Ogden,  senior,  who  supported  his  mother's  resolution,  which 
would  certainly  have  broken  down  without  him.  It  pained 
her  to  see  her  son  Isaac  in  the  misery  of  a  bereavement  which 
he  supposed  to  be  eternal.  The  Doctor  took  a  physiological 
view  of  the  case,  and  argued  that  time  was  a  necessary  condi- 
tion of  success.  "  We  aren't  sure  of  having  saved  him  yet," 
said  the  Doctor:  "we  must  persevere  till  his  constitution  has 
got  past  the  point  of  craving  for  strong  drink  altogether." 


Chap.  X.  Christmas  at  Milcnd.  95 

Matters  remained  in  this  state  until  Christmas  Eve.  Pe- 
riodical festivals  are  highly  agreeable  institutions  for  happy 
people,  who  have  the  springs  of  merriment  within  them, 
ready  to  gush  forth  on  any  pretext,  or  on  the  strength  of 
simple  permission  to  gush  forth  ;  but  it  is  difficult  for  a  man 
oppressed  by  a  persistent  weight  of  sorrow  to  throw  it  off 
because  the  almanac  has  brought  itself  to  a  certain  date,  and 
it  is  precisely  at  the  times  of  general  festivity  that  such  a 
man  feels  his  burden  heaviest.  It  may  be  observed  also, 
that  as  a  man,  or  a  society  of  men,  approaches  the  stage  of 
matui  ty  and  reflection,  the  events  of  life  appear  more  and 
more  to  acquire  the  power  of  coloring  the  whole  of  existence ; 
so  that  the  faculty  of  being  merry  at  appointed  times,  and 
its  converse,  the  faculty  of  weeping  at  appointed  times,  both 
give  place  to  a  continual  but  quiet  sadness,  from  which  we 
never  really  escape,  even  for  an  hour,  though  we  may  still  be 
capable  of  a  manly  fortitude,  and  retain  a  certain  elasticity, 
or  the  appearance  of  it.  In  a  word,  our  happiness  and 
misery  are  no  longer  alternative  and  acute,  but  coexist  in  a 
chronic  form,  so  that  it  has  ceased  to  be  natural  for  men  to 
wear  sackcloth  and  heap  ashes  on  their  heads,  and  sit  in  the 
dust  in  their  wretchedness ;  and  it  has  also  ceased  to  be 
natural  for  them  to  crown  themselves  with  flowers,  and  anoint 
themselves  with  the  oil  of  gladness,  and  clothe  themselves  in 
the  radiance  of  purple  and  cloth-of-gold.  No  hour  of  life  is 
quite  miserable  enough  or  hopeless  enough  for  the  sackcloth 
and  the  ashes — no  hour  of  life  is  brilliant  enough  for  the 
glorious  vesture  and  the  flowery  coronal. 

A  year  before,  Isaac.  Ogden  would  have  welcomed  the 
Christmas  festivities  as  a  legitimate  occasion  for  indulgence 
in  his  favorite  vice,  without  much  meditation  (and  in  this 
perhaps  he  may  have  resembled  some  other  very  regular 
observers  of  the  festival)  on  the  history  of  the  Founder  of 
Christianity.  But  as  it  was  no  longer  his  desire  to  celebrate 
either  this  or  any  other  festival  of  the  Church  by  exposing 


96  WenderJiolme.  Part  l 

himself  to  a  temptation  which,  for  him,  was  the  strongest 
and  most  dangerous  of  all  temptations  —  and  as  the  idea  of 
a  purely  spiritual  celebration  was  an  idea  so  utterly  foreign 
to  the  whole  tenor  of  his  thoughts  and  habits  as  never  even 
to  suggest  itself  to  him  —  he  had  felt  strongly  disposed  to 
shun  Christmas  altogether,  —  that  is,  to  escape  from  the 
outward  and  visible  Christmas  to  some  place  where  the  days 
might  pass  as  merely  natural  days,  undistinguished  by  any 
sign  of  national  or  ecclesiastical  commemoration.  He  had 
determined,  therefore,  to  go  back  to  Twistle  Farm,  from 
which  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  too  long  absent, 
and  had  announced  this  intention  to  the  Doctor.  But  when 
the  Doctor  repeated  it  to  Mrs.  Ogden,  she  would  not  hear 
of  any  such  violation  of  the  customs  and  traditions  of  the 
family.  Her  sons  had  always  spent  Christmas  Eve  together ; 
and  so  long  as  she  lived,  she  was  firmly  resolved  that  they 
always  should.  The  pertinacity  with  which  a  determined 
woman  will  uphold  a  custom  that  she  cherishes  is  simply 
irresistible  —  that  is,  unless  the  rebel  makes  up  his  mind  to 
incur  her  perpetual  enmity ;  and  Isaac  Ogden  was  less  than 
ever  in  a  condition  of  mind  either  to  brave  the  hostility  of 
his  mother  or  wound  her  tenderer  feelings.  So  it  came  to 
pass  that  on  Christmas  Eve  he  went  to  Milend  to  tea. 

Now  on  the  tea-table  there  were  some  little  cakes,  and 
Mrs.  Ogden,  who  had  not  the  remotest  notion  of  the  sort  of 
delicacy  that  avoids  a  subject  because  it  may  be  painful  to 
somebody  present,  and  who  always  simply  gave  utterance  to 
her  thoughts  as  they  came  to  her,  observed  that  these  little 
cakes  were  of  her  own  making,  and  actually  added,  "  They  're 
such  as  I  used  makin'  for  little  Jacob  —  he  was  so  fond 
on  'em." 

Isaac  Ogden's  feelings  were  not  very  sensitive,  and  he 
could  bear  a  great  deal ;  but  he  could  not  bear  this.  He  set 
down  his  cup  of  tea  untasted,  gazed  for  a  few  seconds  at  the 
plateful  of  little  cakes,  and  left  the  room. 


Chap.  X.  Christmas  at  Milcnd.  97 

The  Doctor  was  there,  but  he  said  nolhhig.  Jacob  Ogderj 
did  not  feel  under  any  obligation  to  be  so  reticent.  "  Mother," 
he  said,  "  I  think  you  needn't  have  mentioned  little  Jacob  — 
our  Isaac  cannot  bear  it ;  he  knows  no  other  but  what  th* 
little  un  's  dead,  and  he  's  as  sore  as  sore." 

This  want  of  delicacy  in  Mrs.  Ogden  arose  from  an  all  but 
total  lack  of  imagination.  She  could  sympathize  with  others 
if  she  suffered  along  with  them  —  an  expression  which  might 
be  criticised  as  tautological,  but  the  reader  will  understand 
what  is  meant  by  it.  If  Mrs.  Ogden  had  had  the  toothache, 
she  would  have  sympathized  with  the  sufferings  of  another 
person  similarly  afflicted  so  long  as  her  own  pangs  lasted  ; 
but  if  a  drop  of  creosote  or  other  powerful  remedy  proved 
efficacious  in  her  own  case,  and  released  her  from  the  tortur- 
ing pain,  she  would  have  looked  upon  her  fellow-sufiferer  as 
pusillanimous,  if  after  that  she  continued  to  exhibit  the  out- 
ward signs  of  torment.  Therefore,  as  she  herself  knew  that 
little  Jacob  was  safe  it  was  now  incomprehensible  by  her 
that  his  father  should  not  feel  equally  at  ease  about  him, 
though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  perfectly  well  aware  that 
he  supposed  the  child  to  be  irrecoverably  lost.  Mrs.  Ogden, 
therefore,  received  her  son  Jacob's  rebuke  with  unfeigned 
surprise.  She  had  said  nothing  to  hurt  Isaac  that  she  knew 
of — she  "  had  only  said  that  little  Jacob  used  being  fond  o' 
them  cakes,  and  it  was  quite  true." 

Isaac  did  not  return  to  the  little  party,  and  they  began  to 
wonder  what  had  become  of  him.  After  waiting  some  time 
in  silence,  Mrs.  Ogden  left  her  place  at  the  tea-tray,  and 
went  to  a  little  sitting-room  adjoining  —  a  room  the  men 
were  more  accustomed  to  than  any  other  in  the  house,  and 
where  indeed  they  did  every  thing  but  eat  and  sleep,  Mr. 
Ogden  had  gone  there  from  habit,  as  his  mother  expected, 
and  there  she  found  him  sitting  in  a  large  rocking-chair,  and 
gazing  abstractedly  into  the  fire.  The  chair  rocked  regularly 
but  gently,  and  its  occupant  seemed  wholly  unconscious  — 

7 


98  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

not  only  of  its  motion,  but  of  every  other  material  circum- 
stance that  surrounded  him. 

Mrs.  Ogden  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  said, 
"  Isaac,  willn't  ye  come  to  your  tea  ?  we  're  all  waiting  for 
you." 

The  spell  was  broken,  and  Ogden  suddenly  started  to  his 
feet.  "  Give  me  my  hat,"  he  said,  "  and  let  me  go  to  my  own 
house.  I  'm  not  fit  to  keep  Christmas  this  year.  How  is  a 
man  to  care  about  tea  and  cakes  when  he  's  murdered  his 
own  son  ?  I  'm  best  by  myself ;  let  me  go'  up  to  Twistle 
Farm.  D  'ye  expect  me  to  sing  songs  at  supper,  and  drink 
rum-punch  ? " 

"  There  '11  be  no  songs,  and  you  needn't  drink  unless  you 
like,  but  just  come  and  sit  with  us,  my  lad  —  yoo  always  used 
spendin'  Christmas  Eve  at  Milend,  and  Christmas  Day  too." 

"  It  signifies  nought  what  I  used  doin'.  Isaac  Ogden  isn't 
same  as  he  used  to  be.  He  'd  have  done  better,  I  reckon, 
if  he  'd  altered  a  month  or  two  sooner.  There  'd  have  been 
a  little  lad  here  then  to  make  Christmas  merry  for  us  all." 

"  Well,  Isaac,  I  'm  very  sorry  for  little  Jacob  ;  but  it  cannot 
be  helped  now,  you  know,  and  it 's  no  use  frettin'  so  much 
over  it." 

"  Mother,"  said  Isaac  Ogden,  sternly,  "  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  We  not  likely  to  spoil  your  health  by  frettin'  over  my  little 
lad.  You  take  it  very  easy  it  seems  to  me,  and  my  brother 
takes  it  easy  too,  and  so  does  Dr.  Bardly  —  but  then  Dr. 
Bardly  was  nothing  akin  to  him.  Folk  says  that  grand- 
mothers care  more  for  chilther  than  their  own  parents  does  ; 
but  you  go  on  more  like  a  stepmother  nor  a  grandmother." 

This  was  hard  for  Mrs.  Ogden  to  bear,  and  she  was  strongly 
tempted  to  reveal  the  truth,  but  she  forebore  and  remained 
silent.     Ogden  resumed,  — 

"  I  cannot  tell  how  you  could  find  in  your  heart  to  bake 
them  little  cakes  when  th'  child  isn't  here  to  eat  'em." 

The  effort  to  restrain  herself  was  now  almost  too  much  for 


Chav.  X.  Christmas  at  Milend.  99 

Mrs.  Ogden,  since  it  was  the  fact  that  she  had  baked  the  said 
little  cakes,  or  others  exactly  like  them,  and  prepared  various 
other  dainties,  for  the  especial  enjoyment  of  Master  Jacob, 
who  at  that  veiy  minute  was  regaling  himself  therewith  in  the 
privacy  of  his  hiding-place.     Still  she  kept  silent. 

After  another  pause,  a  great  paroxysm  of  passionate  regret 
seized  Ogden  —  one  of  those  paroxysms  to  which  he  was 
subject  at  intervals,  but  which  in  the  presence  of  witnesses 
he  had  hitherto  been  able  to  contend  against  or  postpone. 
"Oh,  my  little  lad  !  "  he  cried  aloud,  "oh,  my  little  innocent 
lad,  that  I  drove  away  from  me  to  perish  !  I'd  give  all  I  'm 
worth  to  see  thee  again,  little  'un  !  "  He  suddenly  stopped, 
and  as  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks,  he  looked  out  of  the 
window  into  the  black  night.  "  If  I  did  but  know,"  he  said, 
slowly,  and  with  inexpressible  sadness  —  "mother,  mother,  if 
I  did  but  know  where  his  bits  o'  bones  are  lying !  " 

It  was  not  possible  to  witness  this  misery  any  longer.  All 
Dr.  Bardly's  solemn  injunctions,  all  dread  of  a  possible  re- 
lapse into  the  terrible  habit,  were  forgotten.  The  mother  had 
borne  bitter  reproaches,  but  she  could  not  bear  this  agony 
of  grief.  "  Isaac,''  she  said,  "  Isaac,  my  son,  listen  to  me : 
thy  little  lad  is  alive  —  he  's  alive  and  he  's  well,  Isaac." 

Ogden  did  not  seem  to  realize  or  understand  this  commu- 
nication. At  last  he  said,  "  I  know  what  you  mean,  mother, 
and  I  believe  it.  He 's  alive  in  heaven,  and  he  can  ail 
nothing,  and  want  nothing,  there." 

"I  hope  he'll  go  there  when  he  's  an  old  man,  but  a  good 
while  after  we  go  there  ourselves,  Isaac." 

A  great  change  spread  over  Ogden's  face,  and  he  began  to 
tremble  from  head  to  foot.  He  laid  his  hand  on  his  mother's 
arm  with  a  grasp  of  iron.  His  eyes  dilated,  the  room  swam 
round  him,  his  heart  suspended  its  action,  and  in  a  low  hiss- 
ing whisper,  he  said,  "  Mother,  have  they  found  him  "i  " 

"  Yes  —  and  he  's  both  safe  and  well." 

Ogden  rushed  out  of  the  house,  and  paced  the  garden-walk 


loo  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

hurriedly  from  end  to  end.  The  intensity  of  his  excitement 
produced  a  commotion  in  the  brain  that  needed  the  counter- 
stimulus  of  violent  physical  movement.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
roof  of  his  skull  must  be  lifted  off,  and  for  a  few  minutes 
there  was  a  great  crisis  of  the  whole  nervous  system,  to  which 
probably  his  former  habits  may  have  more  especially  exposed 
him.  When  this  was  over,  he  came  back  into  the  house, 
feeling  unusually  weak,  but  incredibly  calm  and  happy.  Mrs. 
Ogden  had  told  the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Jacob  what  had  passed, 
and  the  Doctor  without  hesitation  set  off  at  once  for  his  own 
house,  where  he  ordered  his  gig,  and  drove  away  rapidly  on 
the  Sootythorn  road. 

"  Mother,"  said  Isaac,  when  he  came  in,  "  give  me  a  cup 
of  tea,  will  you  ?  " 

"  A  glass  of  brandy  would  do  you  more  good." 

"  Nay,  mother,  we  've  had  enough  of  brandy,  it  will  not  do 
to  begin  again  now." 

He  sat  down  in  evident  exhaustion  and  drank  the  tea 
slowly,  looking  rather  vacantly  before  him.  Then  he  laid  his 
head  back  upon  the  chair  and  closed  his  eyes.  The  lips 
moved,  and  two  or  three  tears  ran  slowly  down  the  cheeks. 
At  last  he  started  suddenly,  and,  looking  sharply  round  him, 
said,  "  Where  is  he,  where  is  he,  mother }  where  is  little 
Jacob,  my  little  lad,  my  lad,  my  lad  ? " 

"Be  quiet,  Isaac  —  try  to  compose  yourself  a  little;  Dr. 
Bardly  's  gone  to  fetch  him.     He  '11  be  with  us  very  soon." 

Mr.  Ogden  remained  quietly  seated  for  some  minutes  with- 
out speaking,  and  then,  as  his  mind  began  to  clear  after  the 
shock  of  the  great  emotion  it  had  passed  through,  he  asked 
who  had  found  his  boy.  and  where  they  had  found  him,  and 
when. 

These  questions  were,  of  course,  somewhat  embarrassing 
to  his  mother,  and  she  would  probably  have  sheltered  herself 
behind  some  clumsy  invention,  but  her  son  Jacob  interposed. 

"  The  fact  is,  Isaac,  the  loss  of  your  little  'un  seemed  to  be 


Chap.  X.  Chvistmas  at  Milend.  i  o  i 

doin'  you  such  a  power  o'  good  'at  it  seemed  a  pity  to  spoil  it 
by  tellin'  you.  And  it 's  my  opinipji  as  .mother  's  leJ:,  th'  cat 
out  o'  th'  bag  three  week  too  soon  as  it  is.'.'  u 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Isaac,;-' th^t- you ;knew  the 
child  was  found,  and  hid  him  from-his  i)wn  fittiier  ? ''  ■ »     ■ 

"Isaac,  Isaac,  you  mun  forgive  us,"  said  the  mother;  "we 
did  it  for  your  good." 

"  Partly  for  his  good,  mother,"  interposed  Jacob,  "  but  still 
more  for  th'  sake  o'  that  child.  What  made  him  run  away 
from  Twistle  Farm,  Isaac  Ogden  ?  answer  me  that." 

Isaac  remained  silent. 

"  Do  you  fancy,  brother  Isaac,  that  any  consideration  for 
your  feelin's  was  to  hinder  us  from  doin'  our  duty  by  that 
little  lad  ?  What  sort  of  a  father  is  it  as  drives  away  a  child 
like  that  with  a  horsewhip?  Thou  was  no  more  fit  to  be 
trusted  with  him  nor  a  wolf  wi'  a  little  white  lamb.  If  he  'd 
been  brought  back  to  thee  two  days  after,  it  'ud  a'  been  as 
much  as  his  life  was  worth.  And  I  '11  tell  thee  what,  Isaac 
Ogden,  if  ever  it  conies  to  my  ears  as  you  take  to  horse- 
whippin'  him  again,  I  '11  go  to  law  wi'  you  and  get  the  guardi- 
anship of  him  into  safer  hands.  There  'd  be  little  difficulty 
about  that  as  it  is.  I  've  taken  my  measures  —  my  witnesses 
are  ready  —  I  've  consulted  lawyers  ;  and  I  tell  you  candidly, 
I  mean  to  act  at  once  if  I  see  the  least  necessity  for  it.  Little 
Jacob  was  miserable  for  many  a  week  before  you  drove  him 
out  o'  th'  house,  an'  if  we  'd  only  known,  you  would  never 
have  had  the  chance." 

"  Nay,  Jacob,"  interposed  Mrs.  Ogden,  "  you  're  a  bit  too 
hard  on  Isaac;  he's  the  child's  own  father,  and  he  had  a 
right  to  punish  him  within  reason." 

"  Father  !  father  !  "  cried  Jacob,  scornfully  ;  "  there  isn't  a 
man  in  Shayton  as  isn't  more  of  a  father  to  our  little  un 
than  Isaac  has  been  for  many  a  month  past.  There  isn't  a 
man  in  Shayton  but  what  would  have  been  kinder  to  a  nice 
little  lad  like  that  than  he  has  been.  What  signifies  havin' 
begotten  a  child,  if  fatherin'  it  is  to  stop  there?" 


I02  Wender holme.  Part  I. 

At  last  Isaac  Ogden  lifted  up  his  face  and  spoke. 

"  Brother  Jacob,  you  .have  said  nothing  but  what  is  right 
and  true,  and  you  have' all  acted  right  both  by  me  and  him. 
But  If-t  us  itart  fresh.. ,  I.'ve  turned  over  a  new  leaf  ;  I  'm  not 
such  as  I  used  to  be.  I  mean  to  be  different,  and  to  do  dif- 
ferent, and  I  will  be  a  good  father  to  that  child.  So  help  me 
God  ! " 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  Jacob  took  it  and  shook  it 
heartily.  The  two  brothers  looked  in  each  other's  face,  and 
there  was  more  of  brotherly  affection  in  their  look  than  there 
had  ever  been  since  the  dissolution  of  their  partnership  in 
the  cotton  business,  which  had  taken  place  some  years  before. 
Mrs.  Ogden  saw  this  with  inexpressible  pleasure.  "That's 
right,  lads — that's  right,  lads;  God  bless  you!  God  bless 
both  on  you  !  " 

The  customs  of  Shayton  were  mighty,  especially  the  cus- 
tom of  drinking  a  glass  of  port-wine  on  every  imaginable 
occasion.  If  a  Shayton  man  felt  sorry,  he  needed  a  glass  of 
port-wine  to  enable  him  to  support  his  grief ;  but  if  he  felt 
glad,  there  arose  at  once  such  a  feeling  of  true  sympathy  be- 
tween his  heart  and  that  joyous  generous  fluid,  that  it  needed 
some  great  material  impediment  to  keep  them  asunder,  and 
such  an  impediment  was  not  to  be  found  in  any  well-to-do 
Shayton  household,  where  decanters  were  always  charged, 
and  glasses  ever  accessible.  So  it  was  inevitable  that  on  an 
occasion  so  auspicious  as  this  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  should  drink 
a  glass  —  or,  more  probably,  two  glasses  —  of  port  ;  and  his 
mother,  who  did  not  object  to  the  same  refreshment,  bore  him 
company. 

"  Now  Isaac,  lad,  let 's  drink  a  glass  to  mother's  good 
health." 

Mr.  Ogden  had  not  made  any  positive  vow  of  teetotalism, 
and  though  there  might  be  some  danger  in  allowing  himself 
to  experience  afresh,  however  slightly,  the  seductive  stimulus 
of  alcohol    whole  centuries  of  tradition,  the  irresistible  power 


Chap.  X.  Christmas  at  Mileiid.  103 

of  prevalent  custom,  and  the  deep  pleasure  he  felt  in  the  new 
sense  of  brotherly  fellowship,  made  his  soul  yearn  to  the  wine. 

"  Here's  mother's  good  health.  Your  good  health,  mother," 
he  said,  and  drank.  Jacob  repeated  the  words,  and  drank 
also,  and  thus  in  a  common  act  of  filial  respect  and  affection 
did  these  brothers  confirm  and  celebrate  their  perfect  recon- 
ciliation. 

Isaac  now  began  to  show  symptoms  of  uneasiness  and 
restlessness.  He  walked  to  the  front  door,  and  listened 
eagerly  for  wheels.  "  How  fidgety  he  is,  th'  old  lad  !  "  said 
Jacob  j  "  it 's  no  use  frettin'  an'  fidgetin'  like  that  ;  come  and 
sit  thee  down  a  bit,  an'  be  quiet." 

"  How  long  will  he  be,  mother  ? " 

Before  Mrs.  Ogden  could  reply,  Isaac's  excited  ear  detected 
the  Doctor's  gig.  He  was  out  in  the  garden  inmiediately, 
and  passed  bareheaded  through  the  gate  out  upon  the  public 
road.  Two  gig-lamps  came  along  from  the  direction  of 
Sootythorn.  He  could  not  see  who  was  in  the  gig,  but  some- 
thing told  him  that  little  Jacob  was  there,  and  his  heart  beat 
more  quickly  than  usual. 

Perhaps  our  little  friend  might  have  behaved  himself  some- 
what too  timidly  on  this  occasion,  but  the  Doctor  had  talked 
to  him  on  the  road.  He  had  explained  to  him,  quite  frankly, 
that  Mr.  Ogden's  harshness  had  been  wholly  due  to  the  irri- 
table state  of  his  nervous  system,  and  that  he  would  not  be 
harsh  any  more,  because  he  had  given  up  drinking.  He  had 
especially  urged  upon  little  Jacob  that  he  must  not  seem 
afraid  of  his  father  ;  and  as  our  hero  was  of  a  bold  disposi- 
tion, and  had  plenty  of  assurance,  he  was  fully  prepared  to 
follow  the  Doctor's  advice. 

Isaac  Ogden  hails  the  gig ;  it  stops,  and  little  Jacob  is  in 
his  arms. 

"  Please,  papa,  I  wish  you  a  merry  Christmas  and  a  happy 
New  Year !  " 

Little  Jacob's  pony  was  sent  for,  and  the  next  morning  his 


1 04  Wendcrholme.  Part  i. 

father  and  he  rode  together  up  to  Twistle  Farm.  Until  the 
man  came  for  the  pony,  old  Sarah  had  not  the  faintest  hope 
that  little  Jacob  was  in  existence,  and  the  shock  had  nearly 
been  too  much  for  her.  The  messenger  had  simply  said,  "  I  'm 
comed  for  little  Jacob*  tit."  "And  who  wants  it?"  Sarah 
said ;  for  it  seemed  to  her  a  desecration  for  any  one  else  to 
mount  that  almost  sacred  animal.  "Why,  little  Jacob  wants 
it  hissel,  to  be  sure."  And  this  (with  some  subsequent 
explanations  of  the  most  laconic  description)  was  his  way  of 
breaking  the  matter  delicately  to  old  Sarah. 

The  old  woman  had  never  spent  an  afternoon,  even  the 
afternoon  of  Christmas  Day,  so  pleasantly  as  she  spent  that. 
How  she  did  toil  and  bustle  about  ?  The  one  drawback  to 
her  happiness  was  that  she  did  not  possess  a  Christmas 
cake  ;  but  she  set  to  work  and  made  tea-cakes,  and  put  such 
a  quantity  of  currants  in  them  that  they  were  almost  as  good 
as  a  Christmas  cake.  She  lighted  a  fire  in  the  parlor,  and 
another  in  little  Jacob's  room  ;  and  she  took  out  the  little 
night-gown  that  she  had  cried  over  many  a  time,  and,  strange 
to  say,  she  cried  over  it  this  time  too.  And  she  arranged  the 
small  bed  so  nicely,  that  it  looked  quite  inviting,  with  its 
white  counterpane,  and  clean  sheets,  and  bright  brass  knobs, 
and  pretty  light  iron  work  painted  blue.  When  all  was  ready, 
it  occurred  to  her  that  since  it  was  Christmas  time  she  would 
even  attempt  a  little  decoration  ;  and  as  there  were  some  ever- 
greens at  Twistle  Farm,  and  some  red  berries,  she  went  and 
gathered  thereof,  and  attempted  the  adornment  of  the  house  — 
somewhat  clumsily  and  inartistically,  it  must  be  confessed, 
yet  not  without  giving  it  an  air  of  festivity  and  rejoicing. 
She  had  proceeded  thus  far,  and  could  not  "  bethink  her  " 
of  any  thing  else  that  needed  to  be  done,  when,  suddenly 
casting  her  eye  on  her  own  costume,  she  perceived  that  it 
was  of  the  deepest  black  ;  for,  being  persuaded  that  the  dear 
child  was  dead,  she  had  so  clothed  herself  out  of  respect  for 
*  The  possessive  is  omitted  in  the  genuine  Lancashire  dialect. 


Chap.  X.  Christmas  at  Milend.  105 

his  memory.  She  held  her  sombre  skirt  out  with  both  her 
hands  as  if  to  push  it  away  from  her,  and  exclaimed  aloud, 
"  I  '11  be  shut  o'  thee,  onyhow,  and  sharply  too  ; "  and  she 
hurried  upstairs  to  change  it  for  the  brightest  garment  in  her 
possession,  which  was  of  sky-blue,  spotted  all  over  with 
yellow  primroses.  She  also  put  on  a  cap  of  striking  and 
elaborate  magnificence,  which  the  present  writer  does  not 
attempt  to  describe,  only  because  such  an  attempt  would 
incur  the  certainty  of  failure. 

That  cap  had  hardly  been  assumed  and  adjusted  when  it 
was  utterly  crushed  and  destroyed  in  a  most  inconsiderate 
manner.  A  sound  of  hoofs  had  reached  old  Sarah's  ears, 
and  in  a  minute  afterwards  the  cap  was  ruined  in  Master 
Jacob's  passionate  embraces.  You  may  do  almost  any  thing 
you  like  to  a  good-tempered  old  woman,  so  long  as  you  do 
not  touch  her  cap  ;  and  it  is  an  undeniable  proof  of  the 
strength  of  old  Sarah's  affection,  and  of  the  earnestness  of 
her  rejoicing,  that  she  not  only  made  no  remonstrance  in 
defence  of  her  head-dress,  but  was  actually  unaware  of  the 
irreparable  injury  which  had  been  inflicted  upon  it. 


io6  WenderJiolme.  Part  i 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE  COLONEL  GOES  TO  SHAYTON. 

*"  I  ^HE  next  time  the  Doctor  met  Colonel  Stanburne  at 
-*-  Sootythorn,  he  gave  such  a  good  account  of  Mr.  Isaac 
Ogden,  that  the  Colonel,  who  took  a  strong  interest  in  little 
Jacob,  expressed  the  hope  that  Mr.  Ogden  would  still  join  the 
regiment ;  though  in  the  time  of  his  grief  and  tribulation  he 
had  resigned  his  commission,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately  — 
for  the  commission  had  not  yet  been  formally  made  out  and 
delivered  to  him  —  he  had  withdrawn  his  name  as  a  candidate 
for  one.  The  Colonel,  in  his  friendly  way,  declared  that  the 
Doctor  was  not  a  hospitable  character.  "  I  ask  you  to  Wen- 
derholme  every  time  I  see  you,  and  you  come  and  stay  some 
times,  though  not  half  often  enough,  but  you  never  ask  me 
to  your  house  ;  and,  by  Jove  !  if  I  want  to  be  invited  at  all,  I 
must  invite  myself."  The  Doctor,  who  liked  John  Stanburne 
better  and  better  the  more  he  knew  of  him,  still  retained  the 
very  erroneous  notion  that  a  certain  state  and  style  were 
essential  to  his  happiness ;  and,  notwithstanding  many  broad 
hints  that  he  had  dropped  at  different  times  on  the  subject, 
siill  hung  back  from  asking  him  to  a  house  where,  though 
comfort  reigned  supreme,  there  was  not  the  slightest  preten- 
sion to  gentility.  The  old  middle-class  manner  of  living  still 
lingered  in  many  well-to  do  houses  in  Shayton,  and  the 
Doctor  faithfully  adhered  to  it.  Every  thing  about  him  was 
perfectly  clean  and  decent,  but  he  had  not  marched  with  the 
times;  and  whilst  the  attorneys  and  cotton-spinners  in  Sooty- 
thorn   and  elsewhere   had    the  chairs  of   ihcir  dining  rooms 


Chap.  XL        The  Colonel goes  to  Sliayton.  107 

covered  with  morocco  leather,  and  their  drawing-rooms  filled 
with  all  manner  of  glittering  fragilities,  and  Brussels  carpets 
with  pretty  little  tasteful  patterns,  and  silver  forks,  and  nap- 
kins, and  a  hundred  other  visible  proofs  of  the  advance  of 
refinement,  the  worthy  Doctor  had  not  kept  up  with  them  at 
all,  but  lagged  behind  by  the  space  of  about  thirty  years.  He 
had  no  drawing-room  ;  the  chairs  of  his  parlor  were  of  an 
ugly  and  awkward  pattern,  and  their  seats  were  covered  with 
horsehair  ;  the  carpet  was  cheap  and  coarse,  with  a  mon- 
strous pattern  that  no  artistic  person  would  have  tolerated 
for  a  single  day  ;  and  though  the  Doctor  possessed  a  silver 
punch-ladle  and  teapot,  and  plenty  of  silver  spoons  of  every 
description,  all  the  forks  in  the  house  were  of  steel !  Indeed, 
the  Doctor's  knives  and  forks,  which  had  belonged  to  his 
mother,  or  perhaps  even  to  his  grandmother,  were  quite  a 
curiosity  in  their  way.  They  had  horn  handles,  of  an  odd 
indescribable  conformation,  supposed  to  adapt  itself  to  the 
hollow  of  the  hand,  but  which,  from  some  misconception  of 
human  anatomy  on  the  part  of  the  too  ingenious  artificer, 
seemed  always  intended  for  the  hand  of  somebody  else. 
These  handles  were  stained  of  such  a  brilliant  green,  that,  in 
the  slang  of  artists,  they  "  killed  "  every  green  herb  on  the 
plate  of  him  who  made  use  of  them.  The  forks  had  spring 
guards,  to  prevent  the  practitioner  from  cutting  his  left  hand 
with  the  knife  that  he  held  in  his  right ;  and  the  knife  had  a 
strange  round  projection  at  what  should  have  been  the  point, 
about  the  size  of  a  shilling,  which  (horrible  to  relate !)  had 
been  originally  designed  to  convey  gravy  and  small  fragments 
of  viands,  not  prehensible  by  means  of  the  two-pronged  fork, 
into  the  human  mouth  !  In  addition  to  these  strange  relics  of 
a  bygone  civilization  the  Doctor  possessed  two  large  rocking- 
chairs,  of  the  same  color  as  the  handles  of  his  knives.  The 
Doctor  loved  a  rocking-chair,  in  which  he  did  but  share  a 
taste  universally  prevalent  in  Shayton,  and  defensible  on  the 
profoundest  philosophical  grounds.    The  human  creature  loves 


io8  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

repose,  but  a  thousand  causes  may  hinder  the  perfect  enjoy- 
ment of  it,  and  torment  him  into  restlessness  at  the  very  time 
when  he  most  longs  for  rest.  He  may  sit  down  after  the 
business  of  the  day,  and  some  mental  or  bodily  uneasiness 
may  make  the  quiet  of  the  massive  easy-chair  intolerable  to 
him.  The  easy-chair  does  not  sympathize  with  him,  does  not 
respond  to  the  fidgety  condition  of  his  nervous  system  ;  and 
yet  he  tries  to  sit  down  in  it  and  enjoy  it,  for,  though  fidgety, 
he  is  also  weary,  and  needs  the  comfort  of  repose.  Now,  the 
rocking-chair  —  that  admirable  old  Lancashire  institution  — 
and  the  rocking-chair  alone,  responds  to  both  these  needs. 
If  you  are  fidgety,  you  rock ;  if  not,  you  don't.  If  highly  ex- 
cited, you  rock  boldly  back,  even  to  the  extremity  of  danger ; 
if  pleasantly  and  moderately  stimulated,  you  lull  yourself  with 
a  gentle  motion,  like  the  motion  that  little  waves  give  to  a 
pleasure  boat.  It  is  true  that  the  bolder  and  more  emphatic 
manner  of  rocking  has  become  impossible  in  these  latter  days, 
for  the  few  upholsterers  who  preserve  the  tradition  of  the 
rocking-chair  at  all  make  it  in  such  a  highly  genteel  manner, 
that  the  rockers  are  diminished  to  the  smallest  possible  arc  ; 
but  the  Doctor  troubled  himself  little  concerning  these  achieve- 
ments of  fashionable  upholstery,  and  regarded  his  old  rocking- 
chairs  with  perfect  satisfaction  and  complacency  —  in  which, 
without  desiring  to  ofifend  against  the  decisions  of  the  fashion- 
able world,  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  he  was  right. 

A  large  green  rocking-chair,  with  bold  high  rockers  and 
a  soft  cushion  like  a  small  feather-bed,  a  long  clay  pipe  quite 
clean  and  new,  a  bright  copper  spittoon,  and  a  jug  of  strong 
ale,  —  these  things,  with  the  necessary  concomitants  of  a 
briskly  burning  fire  and  an  unlimited  supply  of  tobacco,  formed 
the  ideal  of  human  luxury  and  beatitude  to  a  generation  now 
nearly  extinct,  but  of  which  the  Doctor  still  preserved  the 
antique  traditions.  In  substance  often  identical,  but  in  out- 
wardly visible  means  and  appliances  differing  in  every  detail, 
the  pleasures  of  one  generation  seem  quaint  and  even  ridicu- 


Chap.  XI.        The  Colonel  goes  to  Shay  ton.  109 

lous  in  comparison  with  the  same  pleasures  as  pursued  by  its 
successor.  Colonel  Stanburne  smoked  a  pipe,  but  it  was  a 
short  meerschaum,  mounted  in  silver  ;  and  he  also  used  a 
knife  and  fork,  and  used  them  skilfully  and  energetically,  but 
they  were  not  like  the  Doctor's  grandmother's  knives  and 
forks. 

And  yet,  when  the  Colonel  came  to  Shayton,  he  managed 
to  eat  a  very  hearty  dinner  at  one  p.m.  with  the  above-named 
antiquated  instruments.  After  the  celery  and  cheese,  Dr. 
Bardly  took  one  of  the  rocking-chairs,  and  made  the  Colonel 
sit  down  in  the  other ;  and  Martha  brought  a  fresh  bottle  of 
uncommonly  fine  old  port,  which  she  decanted  on  a  table  in 
the  corner  that  did  duty  as  a  sideboard.  When  they  had 
done  full  justice  to  this,  the  Doctor  ordered  hot  water  \  and 
Martha,  accustomed  to  this  laconic  command,  brought  also 
certain  other  fluids  which  were  hot  in  quite  a  different  sense. 
She  also  brought  a  sheaf  of  clay  tobacco-pipes,  about  two 
feet  six  inches  long,  and  in  a  state  of  the  whitest  virginity  — 
emblems  of  purity !  emblems,  alas  !  at  the  same  time,  of  all 
that  is  most  fragile  and  most  ephemeral ! 

"  Nay,  Martha,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  we  don't  want  them  clay 
pipes  to-day.  Colonel  Stanburne  isn't  used  to  'em,  I  reckon. 
Bring  that  box  of  cigars  that  I  bought  the  other  day  in 
Manchester." 

The  Colonel,  however,  would  smoke  a  clay  pipe,  and  he 
tried  to  rock  as  the  Doctor  did,  and  soon,  by  the  effect  of 
that  curious  sympathy  which  exists  between  rocking-chairs 
(or  their  occupants),  the  two  kept  time  together  like  mu- 
sicians in  a  duet,  and  clouds  of  the  densest  smoke  arose 
from  the  two  long  tobacco-pipes. 

It  had  been  announced  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  parsonage 
that  the  representative  of  the  house  of  Stanburne  intended 
to  call  there  that  afternoon ;  and  though  it  would  be  an 
exaggeration  to  state  that  the  preparations  for  his  reception 
were  on  a  scale  of  magnificence,  it  is  not  an  exaggeration  to 


iio  Wenderhohne.  Part  i 

describe  them  as  in  every  respect  worthy  of  Mrs.  Prigley's 
skill  as  a  manager,  and  her  husband's  ingenuity  and  taste. 
New  carpets  they  could  not  buy,  so  it  was  no  use  thinking 
about  them  ;  and  though  Mrs.  Prigley  had  indulged  the  hope 
that  Mrs.  Ogden's  attention  would  be  drawn  to  the  state  of 
her  carpets  by  that  accident  with  which  the  reader  is  already 
acquainted,  so  as  to  lead,  it  might  be,  to  some  act  of  gener- 
osity on  her  part,  this  result  had  not  followed,  and  indeed 
had  never  suggested  itself  to  Mrs.  Ogden,  who  had  merely 
resolved  to  look  well  to  her  feet  whenever  she  ventured  into 
the  parlor  at  the  parsonage,  as  on  dangerous  and  treacherous 
ground.  Under  these  circumstances  Mrs.  Prigley  gradually 
sank  into  that  condition  of  mind  which  accepts  as  inevitable 
even  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  impecuniosity ;  and 
though  an  English  lady  must  indeed  be  brought  low  before 
she  will  consent  to  see  the  boards  of  her  floors  in  a  condition 
of  absolute  nakedness,  poor  Mrs.  Prigley  had  come  down  to 
this  at  last  ]  and  she  submitted  without  a  murmur  when  her 
husband  expressed  his  desire  that  "that  old  rag"  on  the  floor 
of  the  drawing-room  might  be  removed  out  of  his  sight. 
When  the  deal  boards  were  carpetless,  Mrs.  Prigley  was  pro- 
ceeding with  a  sigh  to  replace  the  furniture  thereon  ;  but  her 
husband  desired  that  it  might  be  lodged  elsewhere  for  a  few 
days,  during  which  space  of  time  he  kept  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room  locked,  and  spent  two  or  three  hours  there 
every  day  in  the  most  mysterious  seclusion,  to  the  neglect  of  his 
parochial  duties.  Mrs.  Prigley  in  vain  endeavored  to  discover 
the  nature  of  his  occupation  there.  She  tried  to  look  through 
the  key-hole,  but  a  flap  of  paper  had  been  adapted  to  it  on  the 
inside  to  defeat  her  feminine  curiosity  ;  she  went  into  the 
garden  and  attempted  to  look  in  at  the  window,  but  the  blind 
was  down,  and  as  it  was  somewhat  too  narrow,  slips  of  paper 
had  been  pasted  on  the  glass  down  each  side  so  as  to  make 
the  interstice  no  longer  available.  The  reverend  master  of  the 
house  endeavored  to  appear  as  frank  and  communicative  as 


Chap.  XI.        The  Colond  goes  to  Shay  ton.  1 1 1 

usual,  by  talking  volubly  on  all  sorts  of  subjects  except  the 
mystery  of  the  drawing-room  ;  but  Mrs.  Prigley  did  not  con- 
sider it  consistent  with  her  self-respect  to  appear  to  take  any 
interest  in  his  discourse,  and  during  all  these  days  she  pre- 
served, along  with  an  extreme  gentleness  of  manner,  the  air 
of  a  person  borne  down  by  secret  grief.  An  invisible  line  of 
separation  had  grown  up  between  the  two  ;  and  though  both 
were  perfectly  courteous  and  polite,  each  felt  that  the  days 
of  mutual  confidence  were  over.  There  was  a  difference, 
however,  in  their  respective  positions  ;  for  the  parson  felt  tran- 
quil in  the  assurance  that  the  cloud  would  pass  away,  where- 
as his  wife  had  no  such  assurance,  and  the  future  was  dark 
before  her.  It  is  true,  that,  notwithstanding  the  outward  se- 
renity of  her  demeanor,  Mrs.  Prigley  was  sustained  by  the 
inward  fires  of  wrath,  which  enable  an  injured  woman  to 
endure  almost  any  extremity  of  mental  misery  and  distress. 

We  have  seen  that  the  Shayton  parson  had  that  peculiar 
form  of  eccentricity  which  consists  in  the  love  of  the  Beau- 
tiful. He  had  great  projects  for  Shayton  Church,  which  as 
yet  lay  hidden  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  breast ;  and  he  had 
also  projects  for  the  parsonage,  of  which  the  realization,  to 
the  eye  of  reason  and  common-sense,  would  have  appeared 
too  remote  to  be  entertained  for  an  instant.  But  the  enthu- 
siasm for  the  Beautiful  does  not  wait  to  be  authorized  by  the 
Philistines,  —  if  it  did,  it  would  wait  till  the  end  of  all  things ; 
and  Mr.  Prigley,  poor  as  he  was,  determined  to  have  such  a 
degree  of  beauty  in  his  habitation  as  might  be  consistent  with 
his  poverty.  Without  being  an  artist,  or  any  thing  approach- 
ing to  an  artist,  he  had  practised  the  drawing  of  the  simpler 
decorative  forms,  and  was  really  able  to  combine  them  very 
agreeably.  He  could  also  lay  a  flat  tint  with  a  brush  quite 
neatly,  though  he  could  not  manage  a  gradation.  When  it 
had  been  finally  decided  that  carpets  could  no  longer  be 
afforded,  Mr.  Prigley  saw  that  the  opportunity  had  come  for 
the  exercise  of  his  talents  ;  but  he  was  far  too  wise  a  man  to 


1 1 2  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

confide  to  his  wife  projects  so  entirely  outside  the  orbit  of 
her  ideas.  He  had  attempted,  in  former  days,  to  inoculate 
her  mind  with  the  tastes  that  belong  to  culture,  but  he  had 
been  met  by  a  degree  of  impenetrability  which  proved  to 
him  that  the  renewal  of  such  attempts,  instead  of  adding  to 
his  domestic  happiness  by  creating  closer  community  of  ideas, 
might  be  positively  detrimental  to  it,  by  proving  too  pi  linly 
the  impossibility  of  such  a  community.  Mrs.  Prigley,  like 
many  good  women  of  her  class,  was  totally  and  absolutely 
devoid  of  culture  of  any  kind.  She  managed  her  house  ad- 
mirably, and  with  a  wonderful  thrift  and  wisdom  ;  she  was 
an  excellent  wife  in  a  certain  sense,  though  more  from  duty 
than  any  great  strength  of  affection  ;  but  beyond  this  and 
the  Church  Service,  and  three  or  four  French  phrases  which 
she  did  not  know  how  to  pronounce,  her  mind  was  in  such  a 
state  of  darkness  and  ignorance  as  to  astonish  even  her  hus- 
band from  time  to  time,  though  he  had  plenty  of  opportuni- 
ties for  observing  it. 

But  what  was  he  doing  in  the  drawing-room  ?  He  was 
doing  things  unheard  of  in  the  Shayton  valley.  In  the  days 
of  his  youth  and  extravagance  he  had  bought  a  valuable 
book  on  Etruscan  design  ;  and  though,  as  we  have  said  else- 
where, his  taste  and  culture,  though  developed  up  to  a  certain 
point,  were  yet  by  no  means  perfect  or  absolutely  reliable, 
still  he  could  not  but  feel  the  singular  simplicity  and  grace  of 
that  ancient  art,  and  he  determined  that  the  decoration  of  his 
drawing-room  should  be  Etruscan.  On  the  wide  area  of  the 
floor  he  drew  a  noble  old  design,  and  stained  it  clearly  in 
black  and  red  ;  and,  when  it  was  dry,  rubbed  linseed-oil  all 
over  it  to  fix  it.  The  effect  was  magnificent !  the  artist  was 
delighted  with  his  performance  !  but  on  turning  his  eye  from 
the  perfect  unity  of  the  floor,  with  its  centre  and  broad  bor- 
der, to  the  old  paper  on  the  walls,  which  was  covered  with  a 
representation  of  a  brown  angler  fishing  in  a  green  river, 
with   a  blue  hill   behind   him,   and    an   equally  blue    church- 


Chap.  XI.        The  Colonel  gocs  to  Shay  ton.  i  13 

steeple,  and  a  cow  who  had  eaten  so  much  grass  that  it  had 
not  only  fattened  her  but  colored  her  with  its  own  green- 
ness—  and  when  the  parsoa  counted  the  number  of  copies 
of  this  interesting  landscape  that  adorned  his  walls,  and 
saw  that  they  numbered  sixscore  and  upwards  —  then  he  felt 
that  he  had  too  much  of  it,  and  boldly  resolved  to  abolish  it. 
He  looked  at  all  the  wall-papers  in  the  shop  at  Shayton,  but  the 
endurable  ones  were  beyond  his  means,  and  the  cheap  ones 
were  not  endurable — so  he  purchased  a  quantity  of  common 
brown  parcel-paper,  of  which  he  took  care  to  choose  the 
most  agreeable  tint ;  and  he  furtively  covered  his  walls  with 
that,  conveying  the  paper,  a  few  sheets  at  a  time,  under  his 
topcoat.  When  the  last  angler  had  disappeared,  the  parson 
began  to  feel  highly  excited  at  the  idea  of  decorating  all  that 
fresh  and  inviting  surface.  He  would  have  a  frieze  —  yes,  he 
would  certainly  have  a  frieze  ;  and  he  set  to  work,  and  copied 
long  Etruscan  processions.  Then  the  walls  must  be  divided 
into  compartments,  and  each  compartment  must  have  its 
chosen  design,  and  the  planning  and  the  execution  of  this 
absorbed  Mr.  Prigley  so  much,  that  for  three  weeks  he  did 
not  write  a  single  new  sermon,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  scarcely 
visited  a  single  parishioner  except  in  cases  of  pressing  neces- 
sit}^  As  the  days  were  so  short,  he  took  to  working  by 
candle-light ;  and  when  once  he  had  discovered  that  it  was 
possible  to  get  on  in  this  way,  he  worked  till  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  He  made  himself  a  cap-candlestick,  and  with  this 
crest  of  light  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  the  fire  of  enthusi- 
asm inside  it,  forgot  the  flying  hours. 

The  work  was  finished  at  last.  It  was  not  perfect ;  a  good 
critic  might  have  detected  many  an  inaccuracy  of  line,  and 
some  incongruousness  in  the  juxtaposition  of  designs,  which, 
though  all  antique  and  Etruscan,  were  often  of  dissimilar 
epochs.  But,  on  the  whole,  the  result  justified  the  proud 
satisfaction  of  the  workman.  The  room  would  be  henceforth 
marked  with  the  sign  of  culture  and  of  taste  :  it  was  a  little 

Temple  of  the  Muse  in  the  midst  of  a  barbarian  world. 

8 


1 1 4  Wender holme.  Part  i 

But  what  would  Mrs.  Prigleysay?  The  parson  knew  that 
he  had  done  a  bold  deed,  and  he  rather  trembled  at  the 
consequence.  "  My  love,"  he  said,  one  morning  at  breakfast- 
time,  "  I  Ve  finished  what  I  was  doing  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  you  can  put  the  furniture  back  when  you  like  ;  but  I 
should  not  wish  to  have  any  thing  hung  upon  the  walls  — ■ 
they  are  sufficiently  decorated  as  it  is.  The  pictures  "  (by 
which  Mr.  Prigley  meant  sundry  worthless  little  lithographs 
and  prints)  —  "the  pictures  may  be  hung  in  one  of  the  bed- 
rooms wherever  you  like." 

Mrs.  Prigley  remained  perfectly  silent,  and  her  husband 
did  not  venture  to  ask  her  to  accompany  him  into  the  scene 
of  his  artistic  exploits.  He  felt  that  in  case  she  did  not 
approve  what  he  had  done,  the  situation  might  become  embar- 
rassing. So,  immediately  after  breakfast,  he  walked  forth 
into  the  parish,  and  said  that  he  should  probably  dine  with 
Mr.  Jacob  Ogden,  who  (by  his  mother's  command)  had 
kindly  invited  him  to  do  so  whenever  he  happened  to  pass 
Milend  about  one  o'clock  in  the  day.  And  in  this  way  the 
parson  managed  to  keep  out  of  the  house  till  tea-time.  It 
was  not  that  Mr.  Prigley  dreaded  any  criticism,  for  to  criti- 
cise, one  must  have  an  opinion.  Mrs.  Prigley  on  these  matters 
had  not  an  opinion.  All  that  Mr.  Prigley  dreaded  was  the 
anger  of  the  offended  spouse  —  of  the  spouse  whom  he  had 
not  even  gone  through  the  formality  of  seeming  to  consult. 

He  was  punished,  but  not  as  he  had  expected  to  be  pun- 
ished. Mrs.  Prigley  said  nothing  to  him  on  the  subject ; 
but  when  they  went  into  the  drawing-room  together  at  night, 
she  affected  not  to  perceive  that  he  had  done  any  thing  what- 
ever there.  Not  only  did  she  not  speak  about  these  changes, 
but,  though  Mr.  Prigley  watched  her  eyes  during  the  whole 
evening  to  see  whether  they  would  rest  upon  his  handiwork, 
they  never  seemed  to  perceive  it,  even  for  an  instant.  She 
played  the  part  she  had  resolved  upon  with  marvellous  per- 
sistence and  self-control.     She  seemed   precisely  as  she  had 


Chap.  XI.        The  Colonel  goes  to  Shayto7i.  115 

always  been  :  —  sulky  ?  not  in  the  least ;  there  was  not  the  slight- 
est trace  of  sulkiness,  or  any  thing  approaching  to  sulkiness 
in  her  manner  —  the  Etruscan  designs  were  simply  invisible 
for  her,  that  was  all. 

They  were  not  so  invisible  for  the  Colonel  when  he  came 
to  pay  his  visit  at  the  parsonage,  and,  in  his  innocence,  he 
complimented  Mrs.  Prigley  on  her  truly  classical  taste.  He 
had  not  the  least  notion  that  the  floor  was  carpetless  because 
the  Prigleys  could  not  afford  a  carpet  —  the  degree  of  pov- 
erty which  could  not  afford  a  carpet  not  being  conceivable 
by  him  as  a  possible  attribute  of  one  of  his  relations  or 
friends.  He  believed  that  this  beautiful  Etruscan  design  was 
preferred  by  Mrs.  Prigley  to  a  carpet  —  to  the  best  of  car- 
pets—  on  high  aesthetic  grounds.  Ah  !  if  he  could  have  read 
her  heart,  and  seen  therein  all  the  shame  and  vexation  that 
glowed  like  hidden  volcanic  fires  !  All  these  classical  deco- 
rations seemed  to  the  simple  lady  a  miserable  substitute  for 
the  dear  old  carpet  with  its  alternate  yellow  flourish  and 
brown  lozenge ;  and  she  regretted  the  familiar  fisherman 
whose  image  used  to  greet  her  wherever  her  eyes  might  rest. 
But  she  felt  a  deeper  shame  than  belongs  to  being  visibly 
poor  or  visibly  ridiculous.  The  room  looked  poor  she  knew, 
and  in  her  opinion  it  looked  ridiculous  also  ;  but  there  was 
something  worse  than  that,  and  harder  far  to  bear.  How 
shall  I  reveal  this  bitter  grief  and  shame — how  find  words 
to  express  the  horror  I  feel  for  the  man  who  was  its  unpardon- 
able cause  !  Carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm  for  a  profane 
and  heathen  art,  Mr.  Prigley  had  actually  introduced,  in  the 
frieze  and  elsewhere,  several  figures  which  —  well,  were  di- 
vested of  all  drapery  whatever  !  "  And  he  a  clergyman,  too  !  " 
thought  Mrs.  Prigley.  True,  they  were  simply  outlined  ;  and 
the  conception  of  the  original  designer  had  been  marvellously 
elegant  and  pure,  chastened  to  the  last  degree  by  long  de- 
votion to  the  ideal  ;  but  there  they  were,  these  shameless 
nymphs  and  muses,  on  the  wall  of  a  Christian  clergyman  ! 


1 1 6  Wenderholme.  Part  i 

John  Stanburne,  who  had  travelled  a  good  deal,  and  who  had 
often  stayed  in  houses  where  there  were  both  statues  and 
pictures,  saw  nothing  here  but  the  evidence  of  cultivated 
taste.  "  What  will  he  think  of  us  ? "  said  Mrs.  Prigley  to 
herself  ;  and  she  believed  that  his  compliments  were  merely 
a  kind  way  of  trying  to  make  her  feel  less  uncomfortable. 
Siie  thought  him  very  nice,  and  he  chattered  as  pleasantly  as 
he  possibly  could,  so  that  the  Doctor,  who  had  come  with 
him,  had  no  social  duty  to  perform,  and  spent  his  time  in 
studying  the  Etruscan  decorations.  Colonel  Stanburne  apolo- 
gized for  Lady  Helena,  who  had  intended  to  come  with  him  ; 
but  her  little  girl  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  fever  —  not 
a  dangerous  fever,  he  hoped,  though  violent. 

The  Doctor,  who  had  not  before  heard  of  this,  was  sur- 
prised ;  but  as  he  did  not  visit  Wenderholme  professionally 
(for  Wenderholme  Hall  was,  medically  speaking,  under  the 
authority  of  the  surgeon  at  Rigton,  whose  jealousy  was  already 
awakened  by  our  Doctor's  intimacy  with  the  Colonel),  he 
reflected  that  it  was  no  business  of  his.  The  fact  was,  that 
little  Miss  Stanburne  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  most  per- 
fect health,  but  her  mother  thought  it  more  prudent  to  let  the 
Colonel  go  to  Shayton  by  himself  in  the  first  instance,  so  as 
to  be  able  to  regulate  her  future  policy  according  to  his 
report.  Mr.  Prigley  came  in  before  the  visitor  had  exhausted 
the  subject  of  the  fever,  which  he  described  with  an  accuracy 
that  took  in  these  two  very  experienced  people,  for  he  de- 
scribed from  memory — his  daughter  having  suffered  from 
such  an  attack  about  six  months  earlier  than  the  very  recent 
date  the  Colonel  found  it  convenient  to  assign  to  it. 

It  was,  of  course,  a  great  satisfaction  to  the  Prigleys  that 
the  head  of  the  Stanburnes  should  thus  voluntarily  renew  a 
connection  which,  so  far  as  personal  intercourse  was  con- 
cerned, was  believed  to  have  been  permanently  severed.  It 
was  not  simply  because  the  Colonel  was  a  man  of  high 
standing  in    the  county  that  they  were   glad   to  become  ac- 


Chap.  XL        The  Colonel  goes  to  Shay  ton.  iiy 

quainted  with  him  — there  were  certain  clannish  and  romantic 
sentiments  which  now  found  a  satisfaction  long  denied  to 
them.  Mrs.  Prigley  felt,  in  a  minor  degree,  what  a  Highland 
gentlewoman  still  feels  for  the  chief  of  her  clan;  and  she 
was  disposed  to  offer  a  sort  of  loyalty  to  the  Colonel  as  the 
head  of  her  house,  which  was  very  different  from  the  common 
respect  for  wealth  and  position  in  general.  The  Stanburnes 
had  never  taken  any  conspicuous  part  in  the  great  events  of 
English  history,  but  the  successive  representatives  of  the 
family  had  at  least  been  present  in  many  historical  scenes, 
in  conflicts  civil  and  military,  on  the  field,  on  the  quarter-deck 
of  the  war-ship,  in  stormy  Parliamentary  struggles  ;  and  the 
present  chief  of  the  name,  for  other  descendants  of  the  family, 
inherited  in  an  especial  sense  a  place  in  the  national  life  of 
England.  Not  that  Mrs.  Prigley  had  any  definite  notions 
even  about  the  historj?^  of  her  own  family  ;  the  sentiment  of 
birth  is  quite  independent  of  historical  knowledge,  and  many 
a  good  gentlewoman  in  these  realms  is  in  a  general  way 
proud  of  belonging  to  an  old  family,  without  caring  to  inquire 
very  minutely  into  the  history  of  it,  just  as  she  may  be 
proud  of  her  coat-of-arms  without  knowing  any  thing  about 
heraldry. 

The  Colonel,  in  a  very  kind  and  graceful  manner,  expressed 
his  regret  that  such  near  relations  should  have  been  sepa- 
rated for  so  long  by  an  unfortunate  dispute  between  their 
fathers.  "  I  believe,"  he  said,  "  that  your  side  has  most  to 
forgive,  since  my  father  won  the  lawsuit,  but  surely  we  ought 
not  to  perpetuate  ill-feeling,  generation  after  generation." 
Mr.  Prigley  said  that  no  ill-feeling  remained  ;  but  that  though 
he  had  often  wished  to  see  Wenderholme  and  its  owner,  he 
knew  that,  as  a  rule,  poor  relations  were  liked  best  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  that  not  having  hitherto  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
Colonel  Stanburne,  he  must  be  held  excusable  for  having 
supposed  him  to  be  like  the  rest  of  the  world.  John  Stan- 
burne was  not  quite  satisfied  with  this  somewhat  formal  and 


1 1 8  Wenderkolme.  Part  i, 

dignified  assurance,  and  was  resolved  to  establish  a  more 
intimate  footing  before  he  left  the  parsonage.  He  exerted 
himself  to  talk  about  ecclesiastical  matters  and  church  archi- 
tecture, and  when  Mr.  Prigley  offered  to  show  him  the  church, 
accompanied  him  thither  with  great  apparent  interest  and 
satisfaction.  The  Doctor  had  patients  to  visit,  and  went  his 
own  way. 


Chap.  XII.  Ogden  s  New  Mill,  119 


CHAPTER  XIL 

OGDEN'S   NEW   MILL. 

/^UR  Jacob,  or  big  Jacob,  or  Jacob  at  Milend,  as  he  now 

^-^     began  to  be  called  in  the  Ogden  family,  to  distinguish 
him  from  his  nephew  and  homonym,  had  arrived  at  that  point 
in  the  career  of  every  successful  cotton-spinner  when  a  feeling 
of  great  embarrassment  arises  as  to  the  comparative  wisdom 
of  purchasing  an  estate  or  "  laying  down  a  new  mill."     When 
his  brother  Isaac  retired  from  the  concern  with  ten  thousand 
pounds,  Jacob  had  not  precisely  cheated  him,  perhaps,  but 
he  had  made  a  bargain  which,  considered  prospectively,  was 
highly  favorable  to  his  own  interest  j  and  since  he  had  been 
alone,  the  profits  from  the  mill  had  been  so  considerable  that 
his  savings  had  rapidly  accumulated,  and  he  was  now  troubled 
with  a  very  heavy  balance   at   his  bankers,   and   in   various 
investments,  which,  to  a  man  accustomed  to  receive  the  large 
interest   of    successful   cotton-spinning,   seemed    little    better 
than  letting  money  lie  idle.     Mrs.  Ogden  had  three  hundred 
a-year  from  five  or  six  very  small  farms  of  her  own,  which 
she  had  inherited  from  her  mother,  and  this  amply  sufficed 
for  the  entire  expenses  of  the  little  household   at   Milend. 
Jacob  spent  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a-year   on 
himself   personally,   of   which    two-thirds   were    absorbed    in 
shooting,  —  the  only  amusement  he  cared  about.     His  tailor's 
bill  was  incredibly  small,  for  he  had  the  excuse,  when  in 
Shayton,  of  being  constantly  about  the  mill,  and  it  was  natu- 
ral that  he  should  wear  old  fustian  and  corduroy  there  ;  and 


I20  Wenderholme.  Part  i 

as  for  his  journeys  to  Manchester,  it  was  his  custom  on  these 
occasions  to  wear  the  suit  which  had  been  the  Sunday  suit 
of  the  preceding  year.  His  mother  knitted  all  his  stockings 
for  him,  and  made  his  shirts,  these  being  her  usual  occupa- 
tions in  an  evening.  His  travelling  expenses  were  confined 
to  the  weekly  journeys  to  Manchester,  and  as  these  were 
always  on  business,  they  were  charged  to  the  concern.  If 
Jacob  Ogden  had  not  been  fond  of  shooting,  his  persona] 
expenses,  beyond  food  and  lodging  (which  were  provided  for 
him  by  his  mother),  would  not  have  exceeded  fifty  pounds 
a-year ;  and  it  is  a  proof  of  the  great  firmness  of  his  character 
in  money  matters  that,  although  by  nature  passionately  fond 
of  sport,  he  resolutely  kept  the  cost  of  it  within  the  hundred. 
His  annual  outlay  upon  literature  was  within  twenty  shil- 
lings \  not  that  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  he  spent  so  large  a 
sum  as  one  pound  sterling  in  a  regular  manner  upon  books, 
but  he  had  been  tempted  by  a  second-hand  copy  of  Baine's 
*  History  of  Lancashire,'  which,  being  much  the  worse  for 
wear,  had  been  marked  by  the  bookseller  at  five  pounds, 
and  Jacob  Ogden,  by  hard  bargaining,  had  got  it  for  four 
pounds  nine  shillings  and  nvnepence.  After  this  extrava- 
gance he  resolved  to  spend  no  more  "  foolish  money,"  as  he 
called  it,  and  for  several  years  made  no  addition  to  his  library, 
except  a  book  on  dog-breeding,  and  a  small  treatise  on  the 
preservation  of  game,  which  he  rightly  entered  amongst  his 
expenses  as  a  sportsman.  We  are  far  from  desiring  to  imply 
that  Jacob  Ogden  is  in  this  respect  to  be  considered  a  repre- 
sentative example  of  the  present  generation  of  cotton-manu- 
facturers, many  of  whom  are  highly  educated  men,  but  he 
may  be  fairly  taken  as  a  specimen  of  that  generation  which 
founded  the  colossal  fortunes  that  excite  the  wonder,  and 
sometimes,  perhaps,  awaken  the  envy,  of  the  learned.  When 
nature  produces  a  creature  for  some  especial  purpose,  she 
does  not  burden  it  with  wants  and  desires  that  would  scatter 
its  force  and  impair  its  efficiency.     The  industrial  epoch  had 


Chap.  XII.  OQ:dens  New  Mill.  1 2 1 


<b 


to  be  inaugurated,  the  manufacturing  districts  had  to  be 
created  —  and  to  do  this  a  body  of  men  were  needed  who 
should  be  fresh  springs  of  pure  energy,  and  reservoirs  of  all 
but  illimitable  capital  ;  men  who  should  act  with  the  certainty 
and  steadiness  of  natural  instincts  which  have  never  been 
impaired  by  the  hesitations  of  culture  and  philosophy — men 
who  were  less  nearly  related  to  university  professors  than  to 
the  ant,  and  the  beaver,  and  the  bee.  And  if  any  cultivated 
and  intellectual  reader,  in  the  thoughtful  retirement  of  his 
library,  feels  himself  superior  to  Jacob  Ogden,  the  illiterate 
cotton-spinner,  he  may  be  reminded  that  he  is  not  on  all 
points  Ogden's  superior.  We  are  all  but  tools  in  the  hands 
of  God ;  and  as  in  the  mind  of  a  writer  great  delicacy  and 
flexibility  are  necessary  qualities  for  the  work  he  is  appointed 
to  do,  so  in  the  mind  of  a  great  captain  of  industry  the  most 
valuable  qualities  may  be  the  very  opposite  of  these.  Have 
we  the  energy,  the  directness,  the  singleness  of  purpose,  the 
unflinching  steadiness  in  the  dullest  possible  labor,  that 
mark  the  typical  industrial  chief  ?  We  know  that  we  have 
not ;  we  know  that  these  qualities  are  not  compatible  with 
the  tranquillity  of  the  studious  temperament  and  the  medi- 
tative life.  And  if  the  Ogdens  cannot  be  men  of  letters, 
neither  can  the  men  of  letters  be  Ogdens. 

It  is  admitted,  then,  that  Jacob  Ogden  was  utterly  and 
irreclaimably  illiterate.  He  really  never  read  a  book  in  his 
life,  except,  perhaps,  that  book  on  dog-breaking.  Whenever 
he  tried  to  read,  it  was  a  task  and  a  labor  to  him  ;  and  as 
literature  is  not  of  the  least  use  in  the  cotton  trade,  the 
energy  of  his  indomitable  will  had  never  been  brought  to 
bear  upon  the  master)^  of  a  book.  And  yer  you  could  not 
meet  him  without  feeling  that  he  was  very  intelligent  —  that 
he  possessed  a  kind  of  intelligence  cultivated  by  the  closest 
observation  of  the  men  and  things  within  the  narrow  circle 
of  his  life.  Has  it  never  occurred  to  the  reader  how  won- 
derfully the  most  illiterate  people  often  impress  us  with  a 


1  2  2  VVe7idei' holme.  Part  I 

sense  of  their  intelligence  —  how  men  and  women  who  never 
learned  the  alphabet  have  its  light  on  their  countenance  and 
in  their  eyes  ?  In  Ogden's  face  there  were  clear  signs  of 
that,  and  of  other  qualities  also.  And  there  was  a  keenness 
in  the  glance  quite  different  from  the  penetration  of  the 
thinker  or  the  artist  —  a  keenness  which  always  comes  from 
excessively  close  and  minute  attention  to  money  matters,  and 
from  the  passionate  love  of  money,  and  which  no  other 
passion  or  occupation  ever  produces. 

In  all  that  related  to  money  Jacob  Ogden  acted  with  the 
pitiless  regularity  of  the  irresistible  forces  of  nature.  As 
the  sea  which  feeds  the  fisherman  will  drown  him  without 
remorse  —  as  the  air  which  we  all  breathe  will  bury  us  under 
heaps  of  ruin  —  so  this  man,  though  his  capital  enabled  a 
multitude  to  live,  would  take  the  bed  from  under  a  sick 
debtor,  and,  rather  than  lose  an  imperceptible  atom  of  his 
fortune,  inflict  the  utmost  extremity  of  misery.  Even  Hanby, 
his  attorney,  who  was  by  no  means  tender-hearted,  had  been 
staggered  at  times  by  his  pitilessness,  and  had  ventured  upon 
a  feeble  remonstrance.  On  these  occasions  a  shade  of  stern- 
ness was  added  to  the  keenness  of  Ogden's  face,  and  he 
repeated  a  terrible  maxim,  which,  with  one  or  two  others, 
guided  his  life :  "  If  a  man  means  to  be  rich,  he  must  have 
no  fiine  feelings;"  and  then  he  would  add,  "/mean  to  be 
rich." 

Perhaps  he  would  have  had  fine  feelings  on  a  Sunday,  for 
on  Sundays  he  was  religious,  and  went  to  church,  where  he 
beard  a  good  deal  about  being  merciful  and  forgiving  which 
on  week-days  he  would  have  attributed  to  the  influence  of 
the  sentiments  which  he  despised.  But  Ogden  was  far  too 
judicious  an  economist  of  human  activities  to  be  ignorant  of 
the  great  art  of  self-adaptation  to  the  duties  and  purposes  of 
the  hour;  and  as  a  prudent  lawyer  who  has  a  taste  for  music 
will  take  care  that  it  shall  not  interfere  with  his  professional 
work,  so  Jacob   Ogden,  who   really  had   rather  a  taste   for 


Chap.  XII.  Ogden  s  New  Mill.  123 

religion,  and  liked  to  sit  in  church  with  gloved  hands  and 
a  clean  face,  had  no  notion  of  allowing  the  beautiful  senti- 
ments which  he  heard  there  to  paralyze  his  action  on  a 
week-day.  Every  Sunday  he  prayed  repeatedly  that  God 
would  forgive  him  his  debts  or  trespasses  as  he  forgave  his 
debtors  or  those  that  trespassed  against  him  ;  but  that  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  not,  from  Monday  morning  to 
Saturday  night  inclusively,  compel  everybody  to  pay  what  he 
owed,  and  distress  him  for  it  if  necessary.  After  all,  he 
acted  so  simply  and  instinctively  that  one  can  hardly  blame 
him  very  severely.  The  truest  definition  of  him  would  be, 
an  incarnate  natural  force.  The  forces  of  wealth,  which  are 
as  much  natural  forces  as  those  of  fire  and  frost,  had  incar- 
nated themselves  in  him.  His  sympathy  with  money  was  so 
complete,  he  had  so  entirely  subjected  his  mind  to  it,  so 
thoroughly  made  himself  its  pupil  and  its  mouth-piece,  that 
it  is  less  accurate  to  say  that  he  had  money  than  that  he 
was  money.  Jacob  Ogden  was  a  certain  sum  of  money 
whose  unique  idea  was  its  own  increase,  and  which  acted  in 
obedience  to  the  laws  of  wealth  as  infallibly  as  a  planet  acts 
in  obedience  to  the  cosmic  forces. 

It  is  only  natural  that  a  man  so  endowed  and  so  situated 
should  grow  rich.  In  all  respects  circumstances  were  favor- 
able to  him.  He  had  robust  health  and  indefatigable  energy. 
His  position  in  a  little  place  like  Shayton,  where  habits  of 
spending  had  not  yet  penetrated,  was  also  greatly  in  his  favor, 
because  it  sheltered  him  in  undisturbed  obscurity.  No  man 
who  is  born  to  wealth,  and  has  lived  from  his  infancy  in  the 
upper  class,  will  confine  his  expenditure  during  the  best  years 
of  manhood  to  the  pittance  which  sufficed  for  Ogden.  It 
was  an  advantage  to  him,  also,  that  his  mind  should  be  empty, 
because  he  needed  all  the  room  in  it  for  the  endless  details 
concerning  his  property  and  his  trade.  No  fact  of  this  nat- 
ure, however  minute,  escaped  him.  His  knowledge  of  the 
present  state  of  all  that  belonged  to  him  was  so  clear  and 


124  WeiiderJiolme.  part  i. 

accurate,  and  his  foresight  as  to  probable  changes  so  sure, 
that  he  anticipated  every  thing,  and  neutralized  every  cause 
of  loss  before  it  had  time  to  develop  itself. 

That  a  man  whose  daily  existence  proved  the  fewness  of 
his  wants  should  have  an  eager  desire  for  money,  may  appear 
one  of  the  inconsistencies  of  human  nature  ;  but  in  the  case 
of  Jacob  Ogden,  and  in  thousands  of  cases  similar  to  his, 
there  is  no  real  inconsistency.  He  did  not  desire  money  in 
order  to  live  luxuriously ;  he  desired  it  because  the  mere  pos- 
session of  it  brought  increased  personal  consideration,  and 
gave  him  weight  and  importance  in  the  little  community  he 
lived  in.  And  when  a  man  relies  on  wealth  alone  for  his  po- 
sition—  when  he  is,  obviously,  not  a  gentleman  — he  needs  a 
great  quantity  of  it.  Another  reason  why  Jacob  Ogden  never 
felt  that  he  had  enough  was  because  the  men  with  whom  he 
habitually  compared  himself,  and  whom  he  wished  to  distance 
in  the  race,  did  not  themselves  remain  stationary,  but  enriched 
themselves  so  fast  that  it  needed  all  Jacob  Ogden's  genius  for 
money-getting  to  keep  up  with  them  ;  for  men  of  talent  in 
every  order  compare  themselves  with  their  equals  and  rivals, 
and  not  with  the  herd  of  the  incapable.  It  was  his  custom 
to  go  to  Manchester  in  the  same  railway  carriage  with  four  or 
five  men  of  business,  who  talked  of  nothing  but  investments, 
and  it  would  have  made  Jacob  Ogden  miserable  not  to  be 
able  to  take  a  share  in  these  conversations  on  terms  of  per- 
fect equality. 

"I'm  sure,"  thought  Mrs.  Ogden,  "that  our  Jacob's  got 
something  on  his  mind.  He  sits  and  thinks  a  deal  more  than 
he  used  doin'.  He 's  'appen  *  fallen  in  love,  an'  doesn't  like 
to  tell  me  about  it,  because  it's  same  as  tellin'  me  to  leave 
Milend." 

Mrs.  Ogden  was  confirmed  in  her  suspicions  that  very  even- 
ing by  the  fact  that  "  our  Jacob  "  shut  himself  up  in  the  little 
sitting-room  with  a  builder.     "If  it's  to  build  himself  a  new 

*  rcrliaps. 


Chap.  XII.  Ogdeii  s  New  Mill.  125 

'ouse  and  leave  me  at  Milend,  I  willn't  stop;  and  if  it's  to 
build  me  a  new  'ouse,  I  shall  never  live  there.  I  shall  go  an' 
live  i'  th'  Cream-pot." 

The  idea  of  Mrs.  Ogden  living  in  a  cream-pot  may  appear 
to  soHie  readers  almost  as  mythical  as  the  story  of  that  other 
and  much  more  famous  old  lady  who  lived  in  a  shoe ;  but 
although  a  cream-pot  would  not  be  a  bad  place  to  live  in  if 
one  were  a  mouse,  and  the  rich  fluid  not  dangerously  deep,  it 
is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Mrs.  Ogden  entertained  such  a 
project  in  an  obvious  and  literal  sense.  Her  intentions  were 
rational,  but  they  need  a  word  of  explanation.  She  possessed 
a  small  farm  called  the  Cream-pot ;  and  of  all  her  small  farms 
this  was  her  best  beloved.  Therefore  had  she  resolved,  years 
and  years  before,  that  when  Jacob  married  she  would  go  to 
the  Cream-pot,  and  dwell  there  for  the  days  that  might  remain 
to  her. 

She  waited  till  the  builder  had  gone,  and  then  went  into 
the  little  room.  Jacob  was  busy  examining  a  plan.  "  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  trouble  yourself  about  that  buildin',  Jacob,"  said 
Mrs.  Ogden  ;  "  there  needs  no  buildin',  for  as  soon  as  ever 
you  get  wed  I  shall  go  to  th'  Cream-pot." 

Her  son  looked  up  from  his  plan  with  an  air  of  the  utmost 
astonishment.     Mrs.  Ogden  continued, — 

"  I  think  you  might  have  told  me  about  it  a  little  sooner. 
I  don't  even  know  her  name,  not  positively,  though  I  may 
guess  it,  perhaps.  There's  no  doubt  about  one  thing  — 
you  '11  have  time  enough  to  repent  in.  As  they  make  their 
bed,  so  they  must  lie." 

"What  the  devil,"  said  Jacob,  thinking  aloud  and  very 
loudly,  —  "what  the  devil  is  th'  ould  woman  drivin'  at.?" 

"  Nay,  if  I  'm  to  be  sworn  at,  I  've  been  too  long  i'  this 
'ouse  already." 

And  Mrs.  Ogden,  with  that  stately  step  which  distinguished 
her,  made  slowly  for  the  door. 

In  cases  where  the  lady  of  a  house  acts  in  a  manner  which 


126  Wenderhobne.  Part  i. 

is  altogether  absurd,  the  male  or  males,  whose  comfort  is  in  a 
fijreat  degree  dependent  upon  her  good  temper,  have  a  much 
better  chance  of  restoring  it  than  when  she  is  but  moderately 
unreasonable.  They  are  put  upon  their  guard  ;  they  are 
quite  safe  from  that  most  fatal  of  errors,  an  attempt  to  bring 
the  lady  round  by  those  too  direct  arguments  which  are  sug- 
gested by  masculine  frankness  \  they  are  warned  that  judicious 
management  is  necessary.  Thus,  although  Jacob  Ogden,  in 
the  first  shock  of  his  astonishment,  had  not  replied  to  his 
mother  in  a  manner  precisely  calculated  to  soothe  her,  he  at 
once  perceived  his  error,  and  saw  that  she  must  be  brought 
round.  In  politer  spheres,  where  people  beg  pardon  of  each 
other  for  the  most  trifling  and  even  imaginary  offences,  the 
duty  of  begging  pardon  is  so  constantly  practised  that  (like 
all  well-practised  duties)  it  is  extremely  easy.  But  it  was  im- 
possible for  Jacob  Ogden,  who  had  never  begged  pardon  in 
his  life. 

"  I  say,  mother,  stop  a  bit.  You  've  gotten  a  bit  o'  brass  o' 
your  own,  an'  I  'm  layin'  down  a  new  mill,  and  I  shall  want 
o'  th' *  brass  I  can  lay  my  hands  on.  I  willn't  borrow  none, 
out  of  this  'ouse,  not  even  of  my  brother  Isaac  ;  but  if  you 
could  lend  me  about  four  thousand  pound,  I  could  give  a 
better  finish  to  th'  new  shed." 

"  Why,  Jacob,  you  never  told  me  as  you  were  layin'  down  a 
new  mill." 

"  No,  but  I  should  a'  done  if  you  'd  a'  waited  a  bit.  I  never 
light  made  up  my  mind  about  it  while  last  night." 

It  was  not  Jacob  Ogden's  custom  to  be  confidential  with  his 
mother  about  money  matters,  and  she  on  her  part  had  been 
too  proud  to  seek  a  confidence  that  was  never  offered  ;  but 
many  little  signs  had  of  late  led  her  to  the  conclusion  that 
Jacob  was  in  a  period  of  unusual  prosperity.  He  had  bought 
one  or  two  small  estates  for  three  or  four  thousand  pounds 

•  All  the.     In  Lancashire  the  word  all  is  abbreviated,  as  in  Scotland, 
to  a',  but  pronounced  o. 


Chap.  XII.  Ogdens  New  Mill.  127 

each,  and  then  had  suddenly  declared  that  he  would  lay  out 
no  more  money  in  "potterin'  bits  o'  property  like  them,  but 
keep  it  while  he  'd  a  good  lump  for  summat  o'  some  use."  The 
decision  about  the  new  mill  proved  to  Mrs.  Ogden  that  the 
'•  lump  "  in  question  was  already  accumulated. 

"  Jacob,"  she  said,  "  how  much  do  you  reckon  to  put  into 
th'  new  mill  ?  " 

"  Why,  'appen  about  forty  thousand  ;  an'  if  you'll  lend  me 
four,  that  '11  be  forty-four." 

This  was  a  larger  sum  than  Mrs.  Ogden  had  hoped  ;  but  she 
showed  no  sign  of  rejoicing  beyond  a  quiet  smile. 

"  And  where  do  you  think  of  buildin'  it  ? " 

"  Well,  mother,  if  you  don't  mind  sellin'  me  Little  Mouse 
Field,  it 's  the  best  mill-site  in  all  Shayton.  There  's  that 
water-course  so  handy ;  and  it'll  increase  the  valley*  of  our 
land  round  about  it." 

Mrs.  Ogden  was  perfectly  soothed  by  this  time.  Jacob 
wanted  to  borrow  four  thousand  pounds  of  her.  She  had  coal 
under  her  little  farms,  of  which  the  accumulated  produce  had 
reached  rather  more  than  that  amount ;  and  she  promised  the 
loan  with  a  facetious  hope  that  the  borrower  would  be  able  to 
give  her  good  security.  As  to  Little  Mouse  Field,  he  was 
quite  welcome  to  it,  and  she  begged  him  to  accept  it  as  a 
present. 

"  Nay,  mother ;  you  shouldn't  give  me  no  presents  bout  t 
givin'  summat  to  our  Isaac.  But  I  reckon  it 's  all  one ;  for  all 
as  I  have,  or  shall  have,  '11  go  to  little  Jacob." 

"Eh,  how  you  talk,  lad!  Why,  you'll  get  wed  an'  have 
chilther  of  your  own.  You  're  young  enough,  an'  well  off 
beside." 

"  There 's  no  need  for  me  to  get  wed,  mother,  so  long  as  th' 

old  woman  lasts,  an'  who  '11  last  a  long  while  yet,  I  reckon. 

There  's  none  o'  these  young  ladies  as  is  kerfie  enough  to  do 

for  a  man  like  me  as  has  been  accustomed  to  see  his  house 

•  Value.  t  Without. 


1 2  8  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

well  managed.     Why,  they  cannot  neither  make  a  shirt  nor  a 
puddin'." 

These  disparaging  remarks  concerning  the  "  Girl  of  the 
Period  "  filled  (as  they  were  designed  to  fill)  Mrs.  Ogden  's 
mind  with  tranquillity  and  satisfaction.  To  complete  her 
good-humor,  Jacob  unrolled  the  plans  and  elevation  of  his  new 
mill.  The  plans  were  most  extensive,  but  the  elevation  did 
not  strike  the  spectator  by  its  height ;  for  as  the  site  was  not 
costly,  Jacob  Ogden  had  adopted  a  system  then  becoming 
prevalent  in  the  smaller  towns  of  the  manufacturing  districts, 
where  land  was  comparatively  cheap  —  the  system  of  erecting 
mills  rather  as  sheds  than  on  the  old  five-storied  model.  His 
new  mill  was  simply  a  field  walled  in  and  roofed  over,  with 
a  tall  engine  house  and  an  enormous  chimney  at  one  end. 
People  of  aesthetic  tastes  would  see  nothing  lovely  in  the  long 
straight  lines  of  roofs  and  rows  of  monotonously  identical 
windows  which  displayed  themselves  on  the  designs  drawn  by 
Ogden's  architect ;  but  to  Ogden 's  eyes  there  was  a  beauty 
here  greater  than  that  of  the  finest  cathedral  he  had  ever 
beheld.  He  was  not  an  imaginative  person  ;  but  he  had  quite 
enough  imagination  to  realize  the  v!sta  of  the  vast  interior, 
the  roar  of  the  innumerable  wheels,  the  incessant  activity  of 
the  living  makers  of  his  wealth.  He  saw  himself  standing  in 
the  noble  engine-room,  and  watching  the  unhurried  see-saw  of 
the  colossal  beams ;  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  pistons,  thicker 
than  the  spear  of  Goliath,  and  brighter  than  columns  of  silver  ; 
the  revolution  of  the  enormous  fly-wheel  ;  the  exquisite  truth 
of  motion  \  the  steadiness  of  man's  great  creature,  that  never 
knows  fatigue.  That  engine-room  should  be  the  finest  in  all 
Shayton.  It  should  have  a  plaster  cornice  round  its  ceiling, 
and  a  great  moulded  ornament  in  the  middle  of  it  ;  the  gas- 
lights should  be  in  handsome  ground-glass  globes  ;  and  about 
the  casings  of  the  cylinders  there  should  be  a  luxury  of  mahog- 
any and  brass. 

"  But,  Jacob,"  said  his  mother,  when  she  had  duly  adjusted 


Chap.  XII.  Ogdeiis  New  MilL  129 

her  spectacles,  and  gradually  mastered  the  main  features  of 
the  plan,  "  it  seems  to  me  as  you  've  put  th'  mill  all  o'  one 
side,  and  th'  engine  nobbut  half-fills  th'  engine-house." 

Ogden  had  never  heard  of  Taymouth  Castle  and  the  old 
Earl  of  Breadalbane,  who,  when  somebody  asked  him  why  he 
built  his  house  at  the  extremity  of  his  estate,  instead  of  in  the 
middle  of  it,  answered  that  he  intended  to  "brizz  yint."  * 
But,  like  the  ambitious  Earl,  Ogden  was  one  of  those  who 
"  brizz  yint." 

"  Why,  mother,"  he  said,  "  this  'ere  's  nobbut  half  the  new 
mill.     What  can  you  do  with  forty-five  thousand  ?  " 

*  Push  beyond. 


130  Wenderholme.  part  j. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

STANITHBURN    PEEL. 

"  T  TELENA!  "  said  Colonel  Stanburne  one  morning  when 

-^  -L  he  came  clown  to  breakfast,  "  I  've  determined  on  a 
bold  stroke.  I  'm  going  to  take  the  tandem  this  morning  to 
Stanithburn  Peel,  to  see  young  Philip  Stanburne  and  get  him 
to  accept  a  captaincy  in  the  new  regiment." 

Her  ladyship  did  not  see  why  this  should  be  called  a  bold 
stroke,  so  she  asked  if  the  road  were  particularly  dangerous 
to  drive  upon,  and  suggested  that,  if  it  were,  one  horse  would 
be  safer  than  two. 

"  That 's  not  it.  The  sort  of  courage  wanted  on  the  present 
occasion,  my  dear  Helena,  is  moral  courage  and  not  physical 
courage,  don't  you  see  ?  Did  you  never  hear  the  history  of 
the  Stanburnes  of  Stanithburn  ?  Surely  female  ignorance 
does  not  go  so  far  as  to  leave  you  uninformed  about  such  a 
distinguished  family  as  ours  .-'  " 

"  I  know  the  history  of  its  present  representative,  or  at  least 
as  much  of  it  as  he  chooses  to  tell  me." 

"  Error  added  to  ignorance !  I  am  not  the  representative 
of  the  family.  We  of  Wenderholme  are  only  a  younger  branch. 
The  real  representative  is  Philip  Stanburne,  of  Stanithburn 
Peel." 

"  I  scarcely  ever  heard  of  him  before.  I  had  some  vague 
notion  that  such  a  person  e.xistcd.  Why  does  he  never  come 
here  ? " 


Chap.  XIII.  Stanitkbum  Peel.  131 

"It's  a  long  story,  but  you  will  find  it  all  in  the  county 
histories.  In  Henry  the  Eighth's  time  Sir  Philip  Stanburne 
was  a  rebel  and  got  beheaded,  some  people  say  hanged,  for 
treason,  so  his  estates  were  confiscated.  Wenderholme  and 
Stanithburn  Tower  were  given  back  to  the  family  in  the  next 
generation,  but  the  elder  branch  had  only  Stanithburn,  which 
is  a  much  smaller  estate  than  this.  Since  then  they  married 
heiresses,  but  always  regularly  spent  their  fortunes,  and  now 
young  Philip  Stanburne  has  nothing  but  the  tower  with  a 
small  estate  of  bad  land  which  brings  him  in  four  or  five 
hundred  a-year." 

"  Not  much  certainly  ;  but  why  does  he  never  come  here  ?  " 

"  My  father  used  to  say  that  there  had  been  no  intercourse 
between  Stanithburn  and  Wenderholme  for  three  hundred 
years.  Most  likely  the  separation  was  a  religious  quarrel, 
to  begin  with.  The  elder  branch  always  remained  strictly 
Roman  Catholic ;  but  the  Wenderholme  branch  was  more 
prudent,  and  turned  Protestant  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time." 

"  All  this  is  quite  a  romantic  story,  but  those  county 
histories  are  so  full  of  archaeology  that  one  does  not  venture 
to  look  into  them.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  write  to  Mr. 
Philip  Stanburne  ?  There  is  no  knowing  now  he  may  receive 
you." 

The  Colonel  thought  it  better  to  go  personally.  "  I  'm  not 
clever,  Helena,  at  persuading  people  with  a  pen  ;  but  I  can 
generally  talk  them  round,  when  I  have  a  chance  of  seeing 
them  myself." 

The  distance  from  Wenderholme  to  Stanithburn  Peel  was 
exactly  twenty-five  miles ;  but  the  Colonel  liked  a  long  drive, 
and  the  tandem  was  soon  on  its  way  through  the  narrow  but 
well-kept  lanes  that  traversed  the  stretch  of  fertile  country 
which  separated  the  two  houses.  The  Colonel  lunched  and 
baited  his  horses  at  a  little  inn  not  often  visited  by  such  a 
stylish  equipage,  and  it  was  nearly  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon when  he  began  to  enter  the  hilly  country  near  the  Peel. 


132  WenderJiolme,  Part  i. 

The  roads  here  were  not  so  good  as  those  in  the  j^lain,  and 
instead  of  being  divided  from  the  fields  by  hedges  they 
passed  between  gray  stone  walls.  The  scenery  became  more 
and  more  desolate  as  the  horses  advanced.  There  was  little 
sylvan  beauty  left  in  it  except  that  of  the  alders  near  a  rapid 
stream  in  the  valley,  and  the  hills  showed  the  bare  limestone 
in  many  places  through  a  scanty  covering  of  grass.  At 
length  a  turn  of  the  road  brought  the  Colonel  in  sight  of  the 
Tower  or  Peel  of  Stanithburn  itself,  an  edifice  which  had  little 
pretension  to  architectural  beauty,  and  lacked  altogether  that 
easily  achieved  sublimity  which  in  so  many  Continental  build- 
ings of  a  similar  character  is  due  to  the  overhanging  of 
machicoulis  and  tourelles.  It  possessed,  however,  the  dis- 
tinguisjiing  feature  of  a  battlement,  which,  still  in  jDerfect 
preservation,  entirely  surrounded  the  leads  of  the  flat  roof. 
Beyond  this  the  old  Tower  retained  no  warlike  character,  but 
resembled  an  ordinary  modern  house,  with  an  additional 
story  on  the  top  of  it.  There  were,  alas  !  some  modern  sash- 
windows,  which  went  far  to  destroy  the  character  of  the 
edifice  ;  yet  whatever  injury  the  Philistinism  of  the  eighteenth 
century  might  have  inflicted  upon  the  building  itself,  it  had 
not  been  able  to  destroy  the  romantic  beauty  of  its  site. 
The  hill  that  separates  Shayton  from  Wenderholme  is  of 
sandstone;  and  though  behind  Twistle  Farm  and  elsewhere 
there  are  groups  of  rocks  of  more  or  less  picturesque  interest, 
they  are  not  comparable  to  the  far  grander  limestone  region 
about  the  Tower  of  Stanithburn.  The  Tower  itself  is  situated 
on  a  bleak  eminence,  half  surrounded  by  a  curve  of  the 
stream  already  mentioned;  but  a  mile  below  the  Tower  the 
stream  passes  through  a  ravine  of  immense  depth,  and  in 
a  series  of  cascades  reaches  the  level  of  the  plain  below. 
Above  Stanithburn  Peel,  on  the  other  hand,  the  stream 
comes  from  a  region  of  unimaginable  desolation  —  where 
the  fantastic  forms  of  the  pale  stone  lift  themselves,  rain- 
worn,  like  a  council  of  rude  colossi,  and  no  sound  is  heard 


Chap.  XIII.  Stanitlibum  Pcel.  133 

but  the  wind  and  the  stream,  and  the  wild  cry  of  the 
plover. 

A  very  simple  gateway  led  from  the  public  to  a  private 
road,  which  climbed  the  hill  till  it  ended  in  a  sort  of  farm- 
yard between  the  Peel  and  its  outbuildings.  When  the 
Colonel  arrived  here,  he  was  received  by  a  farm-servant,  who 
showed  the  way  to  the  stable,  and  said  that  his  master  was 
out  fishing.  By  following  the  stream,  the  Colonel  would  be 
sure  to  find  him. 

John  Stanburne  set  off  on  foot,  not  without  some  secret 
apprehension.  "  Perhaps  Helena  was  right,  "  he  thought ; 
"  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  written.  They  say  he  is  a  strange, 
eccentric  sort  of  fellow,  and  there  is  no  telling  how  he  may 
receive  me." 

Philip  Stanburne,  of  the  Peel,  was  in  fact  reputed  to  be 
morbid  and  misanthropic,  with  as  much  justice  as  there 
usually  is  in  such  reports.  After  his  father's  death  he  had 
been  left  alone  with  his  mother,  and  the  few  years  that  he 
lived  in  this  way  with  her  had  been  the  sweetest  and  happiest 
of  his  life.  When  he  lost  her,  his  existence  became  one  of 
almost  absolute  solitude,  broken  only  by  a  weekly  visit  to  a 
great  house  ten  miles  from  Stanithburn,  where  a  chaplain 
was  kept,  and  he  could  hear  mass  —  or  by  the  occasional 
visits  of  the  doctor,  and  one  or  two  by  no  means  intimate 
neighbors.  In  country  places  a  difference  of  religion  is  a 
great  impediment  to  intercourse  ;  and  though  people  thought 
it  quite  right  that  Philip  Stanburne  should  be  a  Catholic,  they 
never  could  get  over  a  feeling  of  what  they  called  "  queerness  " 
in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  believed  in  transubstantiation, 
and  said  prayers  to  the  Virgin  Mary.  Like  many  other 
recluses,  he  was  credited  with  a  dislike  to  society  far  differ- 
ent from  his  real  feeling,  and  much  less  creditable  to  his 
good  sense.  Habit  had  made  solitude  endurable  to  him,  and 
there  was  something  agreeable,  no  doubt,  in  the  sense  of  his 
independence,  but  there  was  not  the  slightest  taint  of  mis- 


134  Wenderholme.  part  i. 

anthropy  in  his  whole  nature.  He  naturally  shrank  from 
the  society  of  Sootythorn  because  it  was  so  strongly  Protes- 
tant ;  and  there  were  no  families  of  his  own  creed  in  his 
immediate  neighborhood.  His  way  of  living  was  too  simple 
for  the  entertainment  of  guests.  Having  no  profession  by 
which  money  might  be  earned,  he  was  reduced  to  mere 
economy,  which  got  him  a  reputation  for  being  stingy  and 
unsociable. 

The  Colonel  walked  a  mile  along  the  stream  without  per- 
ceiving anybody,  but  at  length  he  saw  Philip  Stanburne,  very 
much  occupied  with  his  fly-book,  and  accompanied  only  by 
a  dog,  which  began  to  bark  vigorously  as  soon  as  he  per- 
ceived the  presence  of  a  stranger.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
afterwards  the  two  new  acquaintances  were  talking  easily 
enough,  and  the  recluse  of  the  Tower  began  to  feel  inclined 
to  join  the  militia,  though  he  had  asked  for  time  to  consider. 

"  I  have  heard,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  that  the  name  which 
your  house  still  keeps,  and  from  which  our  own  name  comes, 
is  due  to  some  stone  in  your  stream  —  stone  in  the  burn,  or 
stane  i'  th'  burn,  and  so  to  Stanithburn  and  Stanburne. 
Is  there  any  particular  stone  here  likely  to  give  a  ground 
for  the  theory,  or  is  it  only  a  tradition  ? " 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Philip  Stanburne,  "  of  the  accu- 
racy of  tradition  in  this  instance.  Come  and  look  at  the 
Stone  itself." 

He  turned  aside  from  the  direct  path  to  the  Tower,  and 
they  came  again  to  the  brink  of  the  stream,  which  had  here 
worn  for  itself  two  channels  deep  in  the  limestone.  Between 
these  channels  rose  an  islanded  rock  about  thirty  feet  above 
the  present  level  of  the  water.  A  fragment  of  ruined  building 
was  discernible  on  its  narrow  summit. 

As  the  two  men  looked  together  on  the  stone  from  which 
their  race  had  taken  its  name  centuries  ago,  both  fell  under 
the  influence  of  that  mysterious  sentiment,  so  different  from 
the  pride  of  station  or  the  vanity  of  precedence,  which  binds 


Chap.  XIII.  Stanitkbuvn  Peel.  155 

us  to  the  past.  Neither  of  them  spoke,  but  it  is  not  an 
exaggeration  to  say  that  both  felt  their  relationship  then. 
Had  not  the  time  been  when  Stanburne  of  the  Peel  and  Stan- 
burne  of  Wenderholme  were  brothers  ?  A  fraternal  feeling 
began  to  unite  these  two  by  subtle,  invisible  threads. 


136  Wender holme.  Part  l 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AT   SOOTYTHORN. 

NOT  manj'^  days  after  the  little  events  narrated  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  Mr.  Philip  Stanburne  awoke  in  a 
small  bedroom  on  the  second  floor  of  the  Thorn  Inn,  or 
Thorn  Hotel,  at  Sootythorn.  It  was  a  disagreeable,  stuffy 
little  room  ;  and  an  extensive  four-poster  covered  fully  one- 
half  the  area  of  the  floor.  There  was  the  usual  wash-hand 
stand,  and  close  to  the  wash-hand  stand  a  chair,  and  on  the 
chair  the  undress  uniform  of  a  militia  officer.  Philip  Stan- 
burne lay  in  the  extensive  four-poster,  and  contemplated  the 
military  equipment,  of  which  the  most  brilliant  portions  were 
the  crimson  sash,  and  the  bright,  newly  gilded  hilt  of  a 
handsome  sword.  As  it  was  only  the  undress  uniform,  there 
was  nothing  particularly  striking  in  the  dress  itself,  which 
consisted  of  a  plain  dark-blue  frock-coat,  and  black  trowsers 
with  narrow  red  seam.  Nevertheless,  Captain  Stanburne  felt 
no  great  inclination  to  invest  his  person  with  what  looked 
very  like  a  disguise.  His  instincts  were  by  no  means  mili- 
tary ;  and  the  idea  of  marching  through  the  streets  of  Sooty- 
thorn  with  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand  had  little  attraction 
for  him. 

When  he  drew  up  his  blind,  the  view  from  the  window  was 
unpleasantly  different  from  the  view  that  refreshed  his  eye 
every  morning  at  Stanithburn  Peel.  The  Thorn  Inn  was 
higher  than  most  of  the  houses  in  Sootythorn,  and  Philip 
Stanburne  had  a  view  over  the  roofs.     Very  smoky  they  all 


Chap.  XIV.  At  SootytJlom.  1 37 

were,  and  still  smokier  were  the  immense  chimney-stalks  of 
the  cotton-mills.  "  One,  two,  three,  four,"  began  Philip,  aloud, 
as  he  counted  the  great  chimneys,  and  he  did  not  stop  till  he 
had  counted  up  to  twenty-nine.  The  Thorn  Inn  was  just  in 
the  middle  of  the  town,  and  there  were  as  many  on  the  other 
side  —  a  consideration  which  occurred  to  Philip  Stanburne's 
reflective  mind,  as  it  sometimes  occurs  to  very  philosophical 
people  to  think  about  the  stars  that  are  under  our  feet,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  world. 

"  What  a  dirty  place  it  is  !  "  thought  Philip  Stanburne. 
"  I  wish  I  had  never  come  into  the  militia.  Fancy  me 
staying  a  month  in  such  a  smoky  hole  as  this !  I  wish  I 
were  back  at  the  Peel.  And  just  the  nicest  month  in  the 
year,  too  ! "  However,  there  he  was,  and  it  was  too  late  to 
go  back.  He  had  to  present  himself  at  the  orderly-room  at 
half-past  nine,  and  it  was  already  a  quarter  to  nine. 

On  entering  the  coffee-room  of  the  hotel  he  found  half-a- 
dozen  gentlemen  disguised  like  himself  in  military  apparel, 
and  engaged  in  the  business  of  breakfast.  He  did  not  know 
one  of  them.  He  knew  few  people,  especially  amongst 
the  Protestant  gentry  ;  and  he  literally  knew  nobody  of  the 
middle  class  in  Sootythorn  except  Mr.  Garley  the  innkeeper, 
and  one  or  two  tradesmen. 

Philip  had  no  sooner  entered  the  coffee-room  than  Mr. 
Garley  made  his  appearance  with  that  air  of  confidence 
which  distinguished  him.  Mr.  Garley  was  not  Philip  Stan- 
burne's equal  in  a  social  point  of  view,  but  he  was  immensely 
his  superior  in  aplomb  and  knowledge  of  the  world.  Thus, 
whilst  Captain  Stanburne  felt  slightly  nervous  in  the  presence 
of  the  gentlemen  in  uniform,  and  disguised  his  nervousness 
inder  an  appearance  of  lofty  reserve,  Mr.  Garley,  though 
little  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  military  men,  or  of  gentle- 
men wearing  the  appearance  of  military  men,  was  no  more 
embarrassed  than  in  the  presence  of  his  old  friends  the 
commercials.      "Good    morning,    Captain    Stanburne,"    said 


1 38  Wender holme.  Part  i, 

Mr.  Garle}'' ;  "  good  morning  to  you,  sir  ;  'ope  you  slep  well  j 
'ope  you  was  suited  with  your  room," 

Philip  muttered  something  about  its  being  "rather  small." 
"Well,  sir,  it  is  rather  small,  as  you  say,  sir.  I  could  have 
wished  to  have  given  you  a  better,  but  you  see,  sir,  I  kep  the 
best  room  in  the  'ouse  for  the  Curnle ;  and  then  there  was 
the  majors,  and  his  lordship  here.  Captain  Lord  Henry 
Ughtred,  had  bespoke  a  good  room  more  than  six  weeks 
ago  ;  so  you  see,  sir,  I  wasn't  quite  free  to  serve  you  quite 
so  well  as  I  could  have  wished.  Sorry  we  can't  content  all 
gentlemen,  sir.  What  will  you  take  to  breakfast.  Captain 
Stanburne  ?  Would  you  like  a  boiled  hegg,  new-laid,  or  a 
little  fried  'am,  or  shall  I  cut  you  some  cold  meat ;  there  's 
four  kinds  of  cold  meat  on  the  sideboard,  besides  a  cold 
beefsteak-pie  ? " 

As  he  finished  his  sentence,  Mr.  Garley  drew  a  chair  out, 
the  seat  of  which  had  been  under  the  table,  and,  with  a 
mixture  of  servility  and  patronage  (servility  because  he  was 
temporarily  acting  the  part  of  a  waiter,  patronage  because  he 
still  knew  himself  to  be  Mr.  Garley  of  the  Thorn  Hotel),  he 
invited  Philip  Stanburne  to  sit  down.  The  other  gentlemen 
at  the  table  had  not  been  engaged  in  a  very  animated  con- 
versation, and  they  suspended  it  by  mutual  consent  to  have 
a  good  stare  at  the  new-comer.  For  it  so  happened  that 
these  men  were  the  swell  clique,  which  had  for  its  head 
Captain  Lord  Henry  Ughtred,  and  for  its  vice-captain  the 
Honorable  Fortunatus  Brabazon ;  and  the  swell  clique  had 
determined  in  its  own  corporate  mind  that  it  would  have  as 
little  to  do  with  the  snobs  of  Sootythorn  as  might  be.  It 
was  apprehensive  of  a  great  influx  of  the  snob  element  into 
the  regiment.  There  was  a  belief  or  suspicion  in  the  clique 
that  there  existed  cads  even  amongst  the  captains  ;  and  as 
the  officers  had  not  yet  met  together,  a  feeling  of  great 
circumspection  predominated  amongst  the  members  of  the 
clique.     Philip  Stanburne  ventured  to  observe  that  it  was  a 


Chap.  XIV.  At  Sootythom.  139- 

fine  morning ;  but  although  his  next  neighbor  admitted  that 
fact,  he  at  once  allowed  the  conversation  to  drop.  Mr. 
Garley  had  given  Philip  his  first  cup  of  tea ;  but,  in  his 
temporary  absence,  Philip  asked  a  distinguished  member  of 
the  swell  clique  for  a  second.  The  liquid  was  not  refused, 
yet  there  was  something  in  the  manner  of  giving  it  which 
might  have  turned  the  hottest  cup  of  tea  in  Lancashire  to  a 
lump  of  solid  ice.  At  length  Lord  Henry  Ughtred,  having 
for  a  length  of  time  fixed  his  calm  blue  eyes  on  Philip  (they 
were  pretty  blue  eyes,  and  he  had  nice  curly  hair,  and  a 
general  look  of   an  overgrown   Cupid),  said,  — 

"  Pray  excuse  me  ;  did  I  not  hear  Mr.  Garley  say  that 
your  name  was  Stanburne  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  name  is  Stanburne." 

"  Are  you  Colonel  Stanburne's  brother,  may  I  ask  ? " 

"  No  ;  the  Colonel  has  no  brothers." 

"  Ah,  true,  true  ;  I  had  forgotten.  Of  course,  I  knew  Stan- 
burne had  no  brothers.  Indeed,  he  told  me  he  'd  no  relations 
—  or  something  of  the  kind.  You're  not  a  relation  of  his, 
I  presume  ;  you  don't  belong  to  his  family,  do  you  ? " 

Philip  Stanburne,  in  these  matters,  had  very  much  of  the 
feeling  of  a  Highland  chief.  He  was  the  representative  of 
the  Stanburnes,  and  the  Colonel  was  head  of  a  younger 
branch  only.  So  when  he  was  asked  in  this  way  whether  he 
belonged  to  the  Colonel's  family,  he  at  once  answered  "no," 
seeing  that  the  Colonel  belonged  to  his  family,  not  he  to  the 
Colonel's.  He  was  irritated,  too,  by  the  tone  of  his  ques- 
tioner ;  and,  besides,  such  a  relationship  as  the  very  distant 
one  between  himself  and  Colonel  Stanburne  was  rather  a 
matter  for  poetical  sentiment  than  for  the  prose  of  the  outer 
world. 

Mr.  Garley  only  made  matters  worse  by  putting  his  word  in. 
"  Beg  pardon,  Captn  Stanburne,  but  I  've  always  'eard  say  that 
your  family  was  a  younger  branch  of  the  Wendrum  family." 

"  Then  you  were  misinformed,  for  it  isn't." 


140  We^iderJwlme.  part  i 

"  Perhaps  it  isn't  just  clearly  traced  out,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Garley,  intending  to  make  himself  agreeable  ;  "  but  all  the 
old  people  says  so.  If  I  was  you,  sir,  I  'd  have  it  properly 
traced  out.  Mr.  Higgin,  the  spinner  here,  got  his  pedigree 
traced  out  quite  beautiful.  It 's  really  a  very  'andsome  pedi- 
gree, coats  of  arms  and  all.  Nobody  would  have  thought 
Mr.  Higgin  'ad  such  a  pedigree ;  but  there  's  nothin'  like 
tracin'  and  studyin',  and  'untin'  it  all  hup." 

Philip  Stanburne  was  well  aware  that  his  position  as  chief 
of  his  house  was  very  little  known,  and  that  he  was  popularly 
supposed  to  descend  from  some  poor  cadet  of  Wenderholme  ; 
but  it  was  disagreeable  to  be  reminded  of  the  popular  belief 
about  him  in  this  direct  way,  and  in  the  hearing  of  witnesses 
before  whom  he  felt  little  disposed  to  abate  one  jot  of  his 
legitimate  pretensions.  However,  pride  kept  him  silent,  even 
after  Mr.  Garley's  ill-contrived  speech,  and  he  sought  a 
diversion  in  looking  at  his  watch.  This  made  the  others 
look  at  their  watches  also  ;  and  as  it  was  already  twenty-five 
minutes  after  nine,  they  all  set  off  for  the  orderly-room,  the 
swell  clique  keeping  together,  and  Philip  Stanburne  following 
about  twenty  yards  in  the  rear. 

The  streets  of  Sootythorn  were  seldom  very  animated  at 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  except  on  a  market-day  ;  and 
though  there  was  a  great  deal  of  excitement  amongst  the 
population  of  the  town  on  the  subject  of  the  militia,  that 
population  was  safely  housed  in  the  fifty-seven  factories  of 
Sootythorn,  and  an  officer  might  pass  through  the  streets  in 
comparative  comfort,  free  from  the  remarks  which  would  be 
likely  to  assail  him  when  the  factories  loosed.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  two  or  three  urchins  who  ran  by  Philip's  side,  and 
stared  at  him  till  one  of  them  fell  over  a  wheelbarrow,  nothing 
occurred  to  disturb  him.  As  the  orderly-room  was  very  near, 
Captain  Stanburne  thought  he  had  time  to  buy  a  pocket-book 
at  the  bookseller's  shop,  and  entered  it  for  that  purpose. 

Whilst  occupied  with  the  choice  of  his  pocket-book  he 
heard  a  soft  voice  close  to  him. 


Chap.  XIV.  At  Sootythoru.  141 

"  Papa  wishes  to  know  if  you  have  got  Mr.  Blunting's 
Sermons  on   Popery." 

"  No,  Miss  Stedman,  we  haven't  a  copy  left,  but  we  can 
order  one  for  Mr.  Stedman  if  he  wishes  it.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  well  to  order  it  at  once,  as  there  has  been  a  great  demand 
for  the  book,  and  it  is  likely  to  be  out  of  print  very  soon, 
unless  the  new  edition  is  out  in  time  to  keep  up  the  supply. 
Four  editions  are  exhausted  already,  and  the  book  has  only 
been  out  a  month  or  two.  We  are  writing  to  London  to-day ; 
shall  we  order  the  book  for  you.  Miss  Stedman  ?  " 

The  lady  hesitated  a  little,  and  then  said,  "  Papa  seemed 
to  want  it  very  much  — yes,  you  can  order  it,  please." 

There  was  something  very  agreeable  to  Philip  Stanburne's 
ear  in  what  he  had  heard,  and  something  that  grated  upon 
it  harshly.  The  tone  of  the  girl's  voice  was  singularly  sweet. 
It  came  to  him  as  comes  a  pure  unexpected  perfume.  It  was 
amongst  sounds  what  the  perfume  of  violets  is  amongst  odors, 
and  he  longed  to  hear  it  again.  What  had  grated  upon  him 
was  the  word  "'  Popery ;  "  he  could  not  endure  to  hear  his 
religion  called  "  Popery."  Still,  it  was  only  the  title  of  some 
Protestant  book  the  girl  had  mentioned,  and  she  was  not  re- 
sponsible for  it  —  she  could  not  give  the  book  any  other  title 
than  its  own.  Philip  Stanburne  was  examining  a  quantity  of 
morocco  contrivances  (highly  ingenious,  most  of  them)  in  a 
glass  case  in  the  middle  of  the  shop,  and  he  turned  round  to 
look  at  the  young  lady,  but  she  had  her  back  to  him.  She 
was  now  choosing  some  note-paper  on  the  counter.  Her 
dress  was  extremely  simple  —  white  muslin,  with  a  little  sprig  ; 
and  she  wore  a  plain  straw  bonnet  —  for  in  those  days  women 
^/d^wear  bonnets.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  not  a  fashion- 
able young  lady,  for  her  whole  dress  showed  a  timid  lagging 
behind  the  fashion. 

When  she  had  completed  her  little  purchases  Miss  Stedman 
left  the  shop,  and  Captain  Stanburne  was  disappointed,  for 
she  had  given  him  no  opportunity  of   seeing  her  face  ;  but 


142  Wcnder holme.  part  i. 

just  as  he  was  leaving  she  came  back  in  some  haste,  and 
they  met  rather  suddenly  in  the  doorway.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,"  said  the  Captain,  making  way  for  her — and  then 
he  got  a  look  at  her  face.  The  look  must  have  been  agree- 
able to  him,  for  when  he  saw  a  little  glove  lying  on  the 
mat  in  the  doorway,  he  picked  it  up  rather  eagerly  and  pre- 
sented it  to  the  fair  owner.  "  Is  this  your  glove,  Miss  — Miss 
Stedman  ?  " 

Now  Miss  Stedman  had  never  in  her  life  been  spoken  to 
by  a  gentleman  in  military  uniform,  with  a  sword  by  his  side, 
and  the  fact  added  to  her  confusion.  It  was  odd,  too,  to  hear 
him  call  her  Miss  Stedman,  but  it  was  not  disagreeable,  for 
he  said  it  very  nicely.  There  is  an  art  of  pronouncing  names 
so  as  to  turn  the  commonest  of  them  into  titles  of  honor ; 
and  if  Philip  had  said  "  your  ladyship,"  he  could  not  have 
said  it  more  respectfully.  So  she  thanked  him  for  the  glove 
with  the  warmth  which  comes  of  embarrassment,  and  she 
blushed,  and  he  bowed,  and  they  saw  no  more  of  each  other 

—  that  day. 

It  was  a  poor  little  glove  —  a  poor  little  cheap  thread  glove  ; 
but  all  the  finest  and  softest  kids  that  lay  in  their  perfumed 
boxes  in  the  well-stocked  shops  of  Sootythorn,  —  all  the  pale 
gray  kids  and  pale  yellow  kids  which  the  young  shopmen  so 
strongly  recommended  as  "  suitable  for  the  present  season," 

—  were  forgotten  in  a  month,  whereas  Alice  Stedman's  glove 
was  remembered  for  years  and  years. 


Chat.  XV.  Wiik  the  Militia,  143 


CHAPTER   XV. 

WITH    THE    MILITIA. 

THE  officers   met  at  the  orderly-room,  after  which   they 
all  went  to  the  parade-ground  at  once  ;  the  field-officers 
and  the  Adjutant  on  horseback,  the  rest  on  foot. 

Philip  Stanburne  followed  the  others.  He  knew  nobody 
except  the  Colonel  and  the  Adjutant,  who  had  just  said  "  Good 
morning  "  to  him  in  the  orderly-room  ;  but  they  had  trotted 
on  in  advance,  so  he  was  left  to  his  own  meditations.  It  was 
natural  that  in  passing  the  bookseller's  shop  he  should  think 
of  Miss  Stedman,  and  he  felt  an  absurd  desire  to  go  into  the 
shop  again  and  buy  another  pocket-book,  as  if  by  acting  the 
scene  over  again  he  could  cause  the  principal  personage  to 
reappear.  "  I  don't  think  she  's  pretty,"  said  Philip  to  him- 
self—  "at  least,  not  really  pretty;  but  she's  a  sweet  girl. 
There 's  a  simplicity  about  her  that  is  very  charming.  Who 
would  have  thought  that  there  was  any  thing  so  nice  in  Sooty- 
thorn?"  Just  as  he  was  thinking  this,  Philip  Stanburne 
passed  close  to  one  of  the  blackest  mills  in  the  place  —  an 
old  mill,  —  that  is,  a  mill  about  thirty  years  old,  for  mills,  like 
horses,  age  rapidly  ;  and  through  the  open  windows  there 
came  a  mixture  of  bad  smells  on  the  hot  foul  air,  and  a  deaf- 
ening roar  of  machinery,  and  above  the  roar  of  machinery  a 
shrill  clear  woman's  voice  singing.  The  voice  must  have  been 
one  of  great  power,  for  it  predominated  over  all  the  noises 
in  the  place ;  and  it  either  was  really  a  very  sweet  one  or 
its  harshness  was  lost  in  the  noises,  whilst  it  rose  above  them 
purified.     Philip  stopped  to  listen,  and  as  he  stopped,  two 


144  WendcrJiolme.  Part  i. 

other  officers  came  up  behind  him.  The  footpath  was  nar- 
row, and  as  soon  as  he  perceived  that  he  impeded  the  circu- 
lation, Philip  went  on. 

"  That 's  one  o'  th'  oudest  mills  i'  Sootythorn,"  said  one  of 
the  officers  behind  Captain  Stanburne  ;  "  it 's  thirty  year  oud, 
if  it 's  a  day." 

The  broad  Lancashire  accent  surprised  Captain  Stanburne, 
and  attracted  his  attention.  Could  it  be  possible  that  there 
were  officers  in  the  regiment  who  spoke  no  better  than  that  ? 
Evidently  this  way  of  speaking  was  not  confined  to  an  indi- 
vidual officer,  for  the  speaker's  companion  answered  in  the 
same  tone, — 

"  Why,  that 's  John  Stedman's  mill,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"John  Stedman  ?  John  Stedman?  it  cannot  be  t'  same  as 
was  foreman  to  my  father  toward  thirty  year  sin'  ? " 

When  Philip  Stanburne  heard  the  name  of  Stedman,  he 
listened  attentively.  The  first  speaker  answered,  "  Yes,  but  it 
is  —  it's  t'  same  man." 

"  Well,  an'  how  is  he  ?  he  must  be  well  off.  Has  he  any 
chilther?" 

"  Just  one  dorter,  a  nice  quiet  lass,  'appen  eighteen  year 
old." 

"  So  she 's  the  daughter  of  a  cotton-spinner,"  thought  Philip, 
"  and  a  Protestant  cotton-spinner,  most  likely  a  bigot.  Indeed, 
who  ever  heard  of  a  Catholic  cotton-spinner?  I  never  did.  I 
believe  there  aren't  any.  But  what  queer  fellows  these  are  to 
be  in  the  militia ;  they  talk  just  like  factory  lads."  Then,  from 
a  curiosity  to  see  more  of  these  extraordinary  officers,  and 
partly,  no  doubt,  from  a  desire  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance 
of  a  man  who  evidently  knew  something  about  Miss  Stedman, 
Philip  left  the  causeway,  and  allowed  the  officers  to  come  up 
with  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  ;  "  no  doubt  you  are  going 
to  the  parade-ground.  Will  you  show  me  the  way?  I  was 
following  some  officers  who  were  in  sight  a  minute  or  two 


Chap.  XV.  Witk  the  Militia.  145 

since,  but  they  turned  a  corner  whilst  I  was  not  looking  at 
them,  and  I  have  lost  my  guides." 

To  Captain  Stanburne's  surprise  he  was  answered  in  very 
good  English,  with  no  more  indication  of  the  Lancashire 
accent  than  a  clearly  vibrated  r,  and  a  certain  hardness  in  the 
other  consonants,  which  gave  a  masculine  vigor  to  the  language, 
not  by  any  means  disagreeable.  The  aspirate,  however,  was 
too  frequently  omitted  or  misplaced. 

"We  are  going  straight  to  the  parade-ground  ourselves,  so 
if  you  come  with  us  you  cannot  go  wrong."  There  was  a  short 
silence,  and  the  same  speaker  continued,  "  The  Colonel  said 
we  were  to  consider  ourselves  introduced.  I  know  who  you 
are — you're  Captain  Stanburne  of  Stanithburn  Peel;  and 
now  I  '11  tell  you  who  we  are,  both  of  us :  I  'm  the  Doctor  — 
my  name  's  Bardly.  I  don't  look  like  a  doctor,  do  I  ?  Per- 
haps you  are  thinking  that  I  don't  look  very  like  an  officer 
either,  though  I  'm  dressed  up  as  one.  Well,  perhaps  I  don't. 
This  man  here  is  called  Isaac  Ogden,  and  he  lives  at  Twistle 
Farm,  on  a  hill-top  near  Shayton,  when  he  's  at  home." 

This  queer  introduction,  which  was  accompanied  by  the 
oddest  changes  of  expression  in  the  Doctor's  face,  and  by  a 
perpetual  twinkle  of  humor  in  his  gray  eye,  amused  Philip 
Stanburne,  and  put  him  into  a  more  genial  frame  of  mind 
than  his  experience  of  the  swell  clique  at  breakfast-time.  Isaac 
Ogden  asked  Stanburne  what  company  he  had  got,  and  on 
being  told  that  it  was  number  six,  informed  him  that  he  him- 
self was  only  a  lieutenant. 

"  He  's  lieutenant  in  the  grenadier  company,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor, "  and  on  Sunday  morning  we  shall  see  him  like  a  butter- 
fly with  £  pair  of  silver  wings.*  He  's  only  a  chrysalis  to-day  ; 
his  wings  haven't  budded  yet.  He  's  very  likely  put  'em  on 
in  private  —  most  of  them  put  on  their  full  uniform  in  private, 

*  For  the  information  of  some  readers,  it  may  be  well  to  explain  that 
the  epaulettes  of  flank  companies,  which  were  of  a  peculiar  shape,  used 
to  be  called  wings. 

10 


146  Wenderholme.  Tarp  1. 

as  soon  as  ever  it  comes  from  the  tailor's.  It 's  necessary  to 
try  it  on,  you  know — it  might  not  fit.  Tlie  epaulettes  would 
fit,  though  ;  but  they  generally  take  their  epaulettes  out  of 
the  tin  box  and  put  them  on,  to  see  how  they  look  in  the 
glass." 

"  Well,  Doctor,",  said  Stanburne,  "  I  suppose  )ou  are 
describing  from  personal  experience.  When  your  own  epau- 
lettes came,  you  looked  at  yourself  in  the  glass,  I  suppose." 

Here  an  indescribably  comic  look  irradiated  Dr.  Bardly's 
face.  "  You  don't  imagine  that  /  have  laid  out  any  money  on 
epaulettes  and  such  gear?  The  tailor  tried  to  make  me  buy 
a  full  uniform,  of  course,  but  it  didn't  answer  with  me.  What 
do  I  want  with  a  red  coat,  and  dangling  silver  fringes  over  my 
shoulders?  I've  committed  one  piece  of  tomfoolery,  and 
that 's  enough  —  I  've  bought  this  sword  ;  but  a  sword  might 
just  possibly  be  of  use  for  a  thief.  There  was  a  man  in  Shay- 
ton  who  had  an  old  volunteer  sword  always  by  his  bedside,  and 
one  night  he  put  six  inches  of  it  into  a  burglar  ;  so  you  see  a 
sword  may  be  of  use,  but  what  can  you  do  with  a  bit  of  silver 
fringe  ?  " 

"  But  I  don't  see  how  you  are  to  do  without  a  full  uniform. 
How  will  you  manage  on  field  days,  and  how  will  you  go  to 
church  on  Sundays  ?  " 

"  Get  leave  of  absence  on  all  such  occasions,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor ;  "so  long  as  I  haven't  a  full  uniform  I  have  a  good 
excuse."  The  fact  was,  that  the  Doctor's  aversion  to  full 
dress  came  quite  as  much  from  a  dislike  to  public  ceremonies 
as  fiom  an  objection  to  scarlet  and  silver  in  themselves.  He 
had  a  youthful  assistant  in  the  regiment  who  was  perfectly 
willing  to  represent  the  medical  profession  in  all  imaginable 
splendor,  and  who  had  already  passed  three  evenings  in  full 
uniform,  surrounded  by  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and  a  group 
of  admiring  friends. 

The  day  was  a  tiresome  idle  day  for  everybody  except  the 
Adjutant,  who  shouted  till  his  throat  was  sore,  and  the  ser- 


Chap.  XV.  WHk  the  Militia.  147 

geants,  on  whom  fell  the  real  work  of  the  companies.  After 
lunch,  the  important  matter  of  billets  had  to  be  gone  into, 
and  it  was  discovered  that  it  was  impossible  to  lodge  all  the 
men  in  Sootythorn.  One  company,  at  least,  must  seek  accom- 
modation elsewhere.  The  junior  captain  must  therefore 
submit,  for  this  training,  to  be  banished  from  the  mess,  and 
sent  to" eat  his  solitary  beefsteak  in  some  outlandish  village, 
or,  still  worse,  in  some  filthy  and  uncouth  little  manufacturing 
town.  His  appetite,  it  is  true,  might  so  far  benefit  by  the 
long  marches  to  and  from  the  parade-ground  that  the  beef- 
steak might  be  eaten  with  the  best  of  sauces  ;  but  the  ordi- 
nary exercises  of  the  regiment  would  have  been  sufficient 
to  procure  that,  and  the  great  efforts  of  Mr.  Garley  at  the 
Thorn  might  have  been  relied  upon  for  satisfying  it.  So  the 
junior  captain  was  ordered  to  take  his  men  to  Whittlecup,  a 
dirty  little  town,  of  about  six  thousand  inhabitants,  four  miles 
distant  from  Sootythorn  ;  and  the  junior  captain  was  Philip 
Stanburne. 

Behold  him,  therefore,  marching  at  the  head  of  his  rabble, 
for  the  men  as  yet  had  neither  uniforms  nor  military  bearing, 
on  the  dusty  turnpike  road  !  The  afternoon  had  been  un- 
commonly hot  for  the  season  of  the  year  ;  and  a  military 
uniform,  closely  buttoned  across  the  breast,  and  padded  with 
cotton  wool,  is  by  no  means  the  costume  most  suitable  for 
the  summer  heats.  There  were  so  few  lieutenants  in  the 
regiment  (there  was  not  one  ensign)  that  a  junior  captain 
could  not  hope  for  a  subaltern,  and  all  the  work  of  the 
company  fell  upon  Philip  Stanburne  and  his  old  sergeant.  It 
was  not  easy  to  keep  any  thing  like  order  amongst  the  men. 
They  quarrelled  and  fought  during  the  march ;  and  it  became 
necessary  to  arrange  them  so  as  to  keep  enemies  at  a  distance 
from  each  other.  Still,  by  the  time  they  reached  the  pre- 
cincts of  Whittlecup  several  of  the  men  were  adorned  with 
black  eyes ;  and  as  a  few  had  been  knocked  down  and 
tumbled  in  the  dust  by  their  comrades,  the  company  presented 


148  Wender holme.  Part  1 

rather  the  appearanCe  of  a  rabble  after  a  riot  than  of  soldiers 
in  hfer  Majesty's  service.  Philip  Stanburne's  uniform  was 
white  with  dust ;  but  as  the  dust  that  alighted  on  his  face 
was  wetted  by  perspiration,  it  did  not  there  remain  a  light- 
colored  powder,  but  became  a  thick  coat  of  dark  paste. 
Indeed,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  owner  of  Stanithburn  had  never 
been  so  dirty  in  his  life. 

Now  there  was  a  river  at  the  entrance  to  Whittlecup,  and 
over  the  river  a  bridge  ;  and  on  the  bridge,  or  in  advance  of 
it  (for  the  factories  had  just  loosed),  there  stood  a  crowd  of 
about  three  thousand  operatives  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the 
militia-men. 

The  Lancashire  operative  is  not  accustomed  to  restrain 
the  expression  of  his  opinions  from  motives  of  delicacy,  and 
any  consideration  for  your  feelings  which  he  may  have  when 
isolated  diminishes  with  the  number  of  his  companions. 
Three  factory  lads  may  content  themselves  with  exchanging 
sarcastic  remarks  on  your  personal  appearance  when  you  are 
out  of  hearing,  thirty  will  make  them  in  your  presence,  three 
hundred  will  jeer  you  loudly  ;  and  from  three  thousand,  if 
once  you  are  unlucky  enough  to  attract  their  attention,  there 
will  come  such  volleys  of  derision  as  nobody  but  a  philoso- 
pher could  bear  with  equanimity. 

Not  only  was  the  road  lined  on  both  sides  with  work 
people,  but  they  blocked  it  up  in  front,  and  made  way  for 
the  militia-men  so  slowly,  that  there  was  ample  time  for 
Philip  Stanburne  to  hear  every  observation  that  was  directed 
against  him.  Amidst  the  roars  of  laughter  which  the  appear- 
ance of  the  men  gave  rise  to,  a  thousand  special  commentaries 
might  be  distinguished. 

"  Them  chaps  sowdiers  !  Why,  there  's  nobbut  one  sowdier 
i'  th'  lot  as  I  can  see  on." 

"  Where  is  he  ?     I  can  see  noan  at  o'." 

"  Cannot  ta  see  th',  felly  wi'  th'  red  jacket  ? " 

"  Eh,  what  a  mucky  lot !  " 


Chap.  XV.  Wzlk  the  Militia.  149 

*'  They'll  be  right  uns  for  fightin',  for  there  's  four  on  'em 
'as  gotten  black  een  to  start  wi'." 

"  Where  's  their  guns  ?  " 

"  They  willn't  trust  'em  wi'  guns.  They  'd  be  shootin'  one 
another." 

"  There  's  one  chap  wi'  a  soourd." 

"  Why,  that 's  th'  officer." 

"  Eh,  captain  !  "  screamed  a  factory  girl  in  Philip's  ear, 
'•  I  could  like  to  gi'  thee  a  kiss,  but  thou  's  getten  sich  a  mucky 
face  !  " 

"  I  wouldn't  kiss  him  for  foive  shillin',"  observed  another. 

"  Eh,  but  I  would  !  "  said  a  third  ;  "  he  's  a  nice  young  felly. 
I  '11  kiss  him  to-neet  when  he  's  washed  hissel !  " 


1 50  WenderJiolme.  Fart  i. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    CASE    OF   ASSAULT. 

THE  officers'  mess  was  rather  a  good  thing  for  Mr. 
Garley.  He  charged  five  shillings  a-head  for  dinner 
without  wine  ;  and  although  both  the  Colonel  and  the  large 
majority  of  his  officers  were  temperate  men,  a  good  deal  of 
profit  may  be  got  out  of  the  ordinary  vinous  and  spirituous 
consumption  of  a  set  of  English  gentlemen  in  harder  exercise 
than  usual,  and  more  than  usually  disposed  to  be  convivial. 
Even  the  cigars  were  no  inconsiderable  item  of  profit  for  Mr. 
Garley,  who  had  laid  in  a  stock  large  enough  and  various 
enough  for  a  tobacconist. 

A  dense  cloud  of  smoke  filled  the  card-room,  and  through 
it  might  be  discerned  a  number  of  officers  in  red  shell- 
jackets  reposing  after  the  labors  of  the  day,  and  wisely 
absolving  nature  from  other  efforts,  in  order  that  she  might 
give  her  exclusive  care  to  the  digestion  of  that  substantial 
repast  which  had  lately  been  concluded  in  the  mess-room. 
There  was  a  party  of  whist-players  in  a  corner,  and  the  rattle 
of  billiard-balls  came  through  an  open  door. 

Captain  Eureton's  servant  came  in  and  said  that  there  was 
an  innkeeper  from  Whittlecup  who  desired  to  speak  to  the 
Adjutant.  The  Captain  left  the  card-room,  and  the  officers 
scarcely  noticed  his  departure,  but  when  he  came  back  their 
attention  was  drawn  to  him  by  an  exclamation  of  the  Colonel's. 
"  Why,  Eureton,  what 's  the  matter  now  ?  how  grave  you 
look  !  " 

The  Adjutant  came  to  the  hearth-rug  where  John  Stan- 


Chap.  XVI.  A  Casc  of  Assault.  151 

burne  was  standing,  and  said,  "  Is  not  Captain  Stanburne 
a  relation  of  yours,  Colonel  ?  " 

"  Cousin  about  nine  times  removed.  But  what 's  the  matter  ? 
He  's  not  ill,  I  hope." 

"Very  ill,  very  ill  indeed,"  said  Eureton,  with  an  expres- 
sion which  implied  that  he  had  not  yet  told  the  whole  truth. 
"  There  's  no  near  relation  or  friend  of  Captain  Stanburne 
in  the  regiment,  is  there.  Colonel  ?  " 

"None  whatever;  out  with  it,  Eureton — you're  making 
me  very  anxious  ;  "  and  the  Colonel  nervously  pottered  with 
the  end  of  a  new  cigar. 

"  The  truth  is,  gentlemen,"  said  Eureton,  addressing  him- 
self to  the  room,  for  every  one  was  listening  intently,  "  a 
great  crime  has  been  committed  this  evening.  Captain  Stan- 
burne has  been  murdered  —  or  if  it's  not  a  case  of  murder 
it 's  a  case  of  manslaughter.  He  has  been  killed,  it  appears, 
whilst  visiting  a  billet,  by  a  man  in  his  company." 

The  Colonel  rang  the  bell  violently.  Fyser  appeared — ■ 
he  was  at  the  door,  expecting  to  be  called  for. 

"Harness  the  tandem  immediately." 

"  The  tandem  is  at  the  door,  sir,  or  will  be  by  the  time  you 
get  downstairs.  I  knew  you  would  be  wantin'  it  as  soon  as 
I  'eard  the  bad  news." 

The  Doctor  was  in  the  billiard-room,  trj'ing  to  make  a 
cannon,  to  the  infinite  diversion  of  his  more  skilful  brother 
officers.  His  muscular  but  not  graceful  figure  was  stretched 
over  the  table,  and  his  scarlet  shell-jacket,  whose  seams  were 
strained  nearly  to  bursting  by  his  attitude,  contrasted  power- 
fully with  the  green  cloth  as  the  strong  gas-light  fell  upon 
him.  Just  as  he  was  going  to  make  the  great  stroke  a  strong 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm. 

"  Now  then,  Isaac  Ogden,  you  've  spoiled  a  splendid  stroke. 
I  don't  hoftens  get  such  a  chance." 

"You  're  wanted  for  summat  else.  Doctor.  Come,  look 
sharp  ;  the  Colonel 's  waiting  for  you." 


1 5  2  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

In  common  with  many  members  of  his  profession,  Dr. 
Bardly  had  a  dislike  to  be  called  in  a  hurried  and  peremptory 
manner,  and  a  disposition,  when  so  called,  to  take  his  time. 
He  had  so  often  been  pressed  unnecessarily  that  he  had 
acquired  a  general  conviction  that  cases  could  wait  —  ant' 
he  made  them  wait,  more  or  less.  In  this  instance,  however, 
Isaac  Ogden  insisted  on  a  departure  from  the  Doctor's  usual 
customs,  and  threw  his  gray  military  cloak  over  his  shoulders, 
and  set  his  cap  on  his  head,  and  led  him  to  the  street-door, 
where  he  found  the  tandem,  the  Colonel  in  his  place  with 
the  Adjutant,  Fyser  already  mounted  behind,  and  the  leader 
dancing  with  impatience. 

The  bright  lamps  flashed  swiftly  through  the  dingy  streets 
of  Sootythorn,  and  soon  their  light  fell  on  the  blossoming 
hedges  in  the  country.  Colonel  Stanburne  had  been  too 
much  occupied  with  his  horses  whilst  they  were  in  the  streets ; 
but  now  on  the  broad  open  road  he  had  more  leisure  to  talk, 
and  he  was  the  first  to  break  silence. 

"  You  don't  know  any  further  details,  do  you,  Eureton  ?  " 

"  Nothing  beyond  what  I  told  you.  The  innkeeper  who 
brought  the  news  was  the  one  Captain  Stanburne  was  billeted 
with,  and  he  quitted  Whittlecup  immediately  after  the  event. 
He  appears  quite  certain  that  Captain  Stanburne  is  dead. 
The  body  was  brought  to  the  inn  before  the  man  left,  and 
he  was  present  at  the  examination  of  it  by  a  doctor  who  had 
been  hastily  sent  for." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  Fyser  from  behind,  "  I  asked  the 
innkeeper  some  questions  myself.  It  appears  that  Captain 
Stanburne  was  wounded  in  the  head,  sir,  and  his  skull  was 
broken.  It  was  done  with  a  deal  board  that  a  Hirish  militia- 
man tore  up  out  of  a  floor.  There  was  two  Hirish  that  was 
quarrellin'  and  fightin',  and  the  Captain  put  'em  both  into  a 
hempty  room  which  was  totally  without  furnitur',  and  where 
they  'd  nothink  but  straw  to  lie  upon  ;  and  he  kep  'em  there 
under  confinement,  and  set  a  guard  at  the  door.     And  then 


Chap.  XVI.  A   CuSC  of  Assmilt.  I  53 

these  two  drunken  Hirish  fights  wi'  their  fists  — but  fisls  isn't 
bloody  enough  for  Hirish,  so  they  starts  tearin'  up  the  boards 
o'  the  floor,  and  the  guard  at  the  door  tried  to  interfere  be- 
tween 'em,  but,  not  havin'  no  arms,  could  do  very  little  •  and 
the  Captain  was  sent  for,  and  as  soon  as  hever  one  o'  these 
Hirish  sees  him  he  says,  *  Here  's  our  bloody  Captain,'  and 
he  aims  a  most  tremenjious  stroke  at  him  with  his  deal  board, 
and  it  happened  most  unfortunate  that  it  hit  the  Captain  with 
the  rusty  nail  in  it." 

"  I  wonder  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  separate  the  Irish- 
men," observed  Eureton,  in  a  lower  tone,  to  the  Colonel. 
"  He  ought  not  to  have  confined  them  together." 

"  Strictly  speaking,  he  ought  not  to  have  placed  them  in 
confinement  at  all  at  Whittlecup,  but  sent  them  at  once  under 
escort  to  headquarters." 

"What's  this  that  we  are  meeting?"  said  the  Adjutant. 
"  I  hear  men  marching." 

The  Colonel  drew  up  his  horses,  and  the  regular  footfall  ot 
soldiers  became  audible,  and  gradually  grew  louder.  "  They 
march  uncommonly  well,  Eureton,  for  militia-men  who  have 
had  no  training  ;  I  cannot  understand  it." 

"  There  were  half-a-dozen  old  soldiers  in  Captain  Stan- 
burne's  company,  and  I  suppose  the  sergeant  has  selected 
them  as  a  guard  for  the  prisoners." 

The  night  was  cloudy  and  dark,  and  the  lamps  of  the 
Colonel's  vehicle  were  so  very  splendid  and  brilliant  that  they 
made  the  darkness  beyond  their  range  blacker  and  more  im- 
penetrable than  ever.  As  the  soldiers  came  nearer,  the 
Colonel  stopped  his  horses  and  waited.  Suddenly  out  of  the 
darkness  came  a  corporal  and  four  men  with  two  prisoners. 
The  Colonel  shouted,  "  Halt !  " 

"  Have  you  any  news  of  Captain  Stanburne  ?  " 

"  He  's  not  quite  dead,  sir,  or  was  not  when  we  left." 

The  tall  wheels  rolled  along  the  road,  and  in  a  quarter  of 


154  WenderJwlme.  ,     Part  i. 

an  hour  the  leader  had  to  make  his  way  through  a  little  crowd 
of  people  in  front  of  the  Blue  Bell. 

The  Doctor  was  the  first  in  the  house,  and  was  led  at  once 
to  young  Stanburne's  room.  The  Whittlecup  surgeon  was 
there  already.  No  professional  men  are  so  ticklish  on  pro- 
fessional etiquette  as  surgeons  are,  but  in  this  instance  there 
could  be  little  difficulty  of  that  kind.  "  You  are  the  surgeon 
to  the  regiment,  I  believe,"  said  the  Whittlecup  doctor ;  "  you 
will  find  this  a  very  serious  case.  I  simply  took  charge  of  it 
in  your  absence." 

The  patient  was  not  dead,  but  he  was  perfectly  insensible. 
He  breathed  faintly,  and  every  few  minutes  there  was  a  rat- 
tling in  the  throat,  resembling  that  which  precedes  immediate 
dissolution.  The  two  doctors  examined  the  wound  together. 
The  skull  had  been  fractured  by  the  blow,  and  there  was  a 
gash  produced  by  the  nail  in  the  board.  The  face  was  ex- 
tremely pale,  and  so  altered  as  to  be  scarcely  recognizable. 
The  innkeeper's  wife,  Mrs.  Simpson,  was  moistening  tho  pale 
lips  with  brandy. 

When  the  Colonel  and  Captain  Eureton  had  seen  the  pa- 
tient, they  had  a  talk  with  Dr.  Bardly  in  another  room.  The 
Doctor's  opinion  was  that  there  were  chances  of  recovery, 
but  not  very  strong  chances.  Though  Philip  Stanburne  had 
enjoyed  tolerably  regular  health  in  consequence  of  his  tem- 
perate and  simple  way  of  living,  he  had  by  no  means  a  robust 
constitution,  and  it  was  possible — it  was  even  probable  — 
that  he  would  succumb ;  but  he  tnight  pull  through.  Dr. 
Bardly  proposed  to  resign  the  case  entirely  to  the  Whittlecup 
doctor,  as  it  would  require  constant  attention,  and  the  sur- 
geon ought  to  be  on  the  spot. 


Chap. XVII.  Isaac  Ogden  Agam.  155 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

ISAAC    OGDEN    AGAIN. 

AS  the  lieutenant  of  the  Grenadier  Company,  Mr.  Isaac 
Ogden  was  appointed  to  do  captain's  work  at  Whittle- 
cup  in  the  place  of  Philip  Stanburne. 

For  many  weeks  Mr.  Ogden  had  displayed  a  strength  of 
resolution  that  astonished  his  most  intimate  friends.  Without 
meanly  taking  refuge  in  the  practice  of  total  abstinence,  he 
had  kept  strictly  within  the  bounds  of  what  in  Shayton  is  con- 
sidered moderation. 

The  customs  of  the  mess  at  Sootythorn  were  not  likely  to 
place  him  in  the  power  of  his  old  enemy  again  ;  for  although 
the  officers  were  not  severely  abstinent,  their  utmost  convivi- 
ality scarcely  extended  beyond  the  daily  habits  of  the  very 
soberest  of  Shaytonians. 

Viewing  the  matter,  therefore,  from  the  standpoint  of  his 
personal  experience,  Dr.  Bardly  looked  upon  Ogden  as  now 
the  most  temperate  of  men.  It  is  true  that  as  a  militia  officer 
he  could  not  follow  a  new  rule  of  his  about  not  entering  inns, 
for  the  business  of  the  regiment  required  him  to  visit  a  dozen 
inns  every  day,  and  to  eat  and  sleep  in  one  for  a  month  to- 
gether ;  and  it  is  obvious  that  the  other  good  rule  about  not 
drinking  spirits  at  Twistle  Farm  could  not  be  very  advantage- 
ous to  him  just  now,  seeing  that,  although  it  was  always  in 
force,  it  was  practically  efficacious  only  during  his  residence 
under  his  own  roof.  It  seems  a  pity  that  he  did  not  legislate 
for  himself  anew,  so  as  to  meet  his  altered  circumstances  ;  but 
the  labors  of  regimental  duty  appeared  so  onerous  that  ex- 


156  Wenderholme.  Part  \ 

traordinary  stimulation  seemed  necessary  to  meet  this  ex- 
traordinary fatigue,  and  it  would  have  appeared  imprudent 
to  confine  himself  within  rigidly  fixed  limits  which  necessity 
might  compel  him  to  transgress.  So  in  point  of  fact  Mr. 
Ogden  was  a  free  agent  again. 

Whilst  Philip  Stanburne  had  remained  at  the  Blue  Bell, 
Lieutenant  Ogden  had  been  in  all  respects  a  model  of  good 
behavior.  He  had  watched  by  Philip's  bedside  in  the  even- 
ings, sometimes  far  into  the  night,  and  the  utmost  extent  of 
his  conviviality  had  been  a  glass  of  grog  with  the  Whittlecup 
doctor.  But  the  day  Philip  Stanburne  was  removed,  Lieuten- 
ant Ogden,  after  having  dined  and  inspected  his  billets,  began 
to  feel  the  weight  of  his  loneliness,  and  he  felt  it  none  the  less 
for  being  accustomed  to  loneliness  at  the  Farm.  Captain 
Stanburne's  illness,  and  the  regular  evening  talk  with  the 
Whittlecup  doctor,  had  hitherto  given  an  interest  to  Isaac 
Ogden's  life  at  the  Blue  Bell,  and  this  interest  had  been 
suddenly  removed.  Something  must  be  found  to  supply  its 
place  ;  it  became  necessary  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of 
somebody  in  the  parlor. 

It  is  needless  to  trouble  the  reader  with  details  about  the 
men  of  Whittlecup  whom  Mr.  Ogden  found  there,  because 
they  have  no  connection  with  the  progress  of  this  history.  But 
he  found  somebody  else  too,  namely,  Jeremiah  Smethurst,  a 
true  Shaytonian,  and  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of  the 
little  society  that  met  at  the  Red  Lion.  When  Jerry  saw  his 
old  friend  Isaac  Ogden,  whom  he  had  missed  for  many  weeks, 
his  greeting  was  so  very  cordial,  so  expressive  of  good-fellow- 
ship, that  it  was  not  possible  to  negative  his  proposition  that 
they  should  "  take  a  glass  together." 

Now  the  keeper  of  the  Blue  Bell  Inn  knew  Jerry  Smethurst. 
He  knew  that  Jerry  drank  more  than  half  a  bottle  of  brandy 
every  night  before  he  went  to  bed,  and  without  giving  Mr. 
Ogden  credit  for  equal  powers,  he  had  heard  that  he  came 
from  Shayton,  which  is  a  good  recommendation  to  a  vendor 


Chap. XVII.  Isaac  Ogdeji  Again.  157 

of  spirituous  liquors.  He  therefore,  instead  of  bringing  a 
glass  of  brandy  for  each  of  the  Shayton  gentlemen,  uncorked 
a  fresh  bottle  and  placed  it  between  them,  remarking  that  they 
might  take  what  they  pleased  —  that  there  was  'ot  warter  on 
the  'arth,  for  the  kettle  was  just  bylin,  an'  there  was  shugger 
in  the  shugger-basin. 

The  reader  foresees  the  consequences.  After  two  or  three 
glasses  with  his  old  friend,  Isaac  Ogden  fell  under  the 
dominion  of  the  old  Shayton  associations.  Jerry  Smethurst 
talked  the  dear  old  Shayton  talk,  such  as  Isaac  Ogden  had 
not  heard  in  perfection  for  many  a  day.  For  men  like  the 
Doctor  and  Jacob  Ogden  were,  by  reason  of  their  extreme 
temperance,  isolated  beings  —  beings  cut  off  from  the  heart- 
iest and  most  genial  society  of  the  place  —  and  Isaac  had 
been  an  isolated  being  also  since  he  had  kept  out  of  the  Red 
Lion  and  the  White  Hart. 

"  Why  should  a  man  desire  in  any  way 
To  vary  from  the  kindly  race  of  men  .''  " 

That  abandonment  of  the  Red  Lion  had  been  a  moral  gain  — 
a  moral  victor}'  —  but  an  intellectual  loss.  Was  such  a  fellow 
as  Parson  Prigley  any  compensation  for  Jerry  Smethurst  ? 
And  there  were  half-a-dozen  at  the  Red  Lion  as  good  as 
Jerry.  He  was  short  of  stature  —  so  short,  that  when  he  sat 
in  a  rocking-chair  he  had  a  difficulty  in  giving  the  proper  im- 
petus with  his  toes ;  and  he  had  a  great  round  belly,  and  a 
face  which,  if  not  equally  great  and  round,  seemed  so  by 
reason  of  all  the  light  and  warmth  that  radiated  from  it.  It 
was  enough  to  cure  anybody  of  hypochondria  to  look  at  Jerry 
Smethurst's  face.  I  have  seen  the  moon  look  rather  like  it 
sometimes,  rising  warm  and  mellow  on  a  summer's  night ;  but 
though  anybody  may  see  that  the  moon  has  a  nose  and  eyes, 
she  certainly  lacks  expression.  It  was  pleasant  to  Isaac 
Ogden  to  see  the  friendly  old  visage  before  him  once  again. 
Genial  and  kind  thoughts  rose  in  his  mind.  Tennyson  had 
not  yet  written   "  Tithonus,"  and  if  he  had,  no   Shaytonian 


158  WenderJiolme.  Part  r. 

would  have  read  it  —  but  the  thoughts  in  Ogden's  mind  were 
these :  — 

"  Why  should  a  man  desire  in  any  way 
To  vary  from  the  kindly  race  of  men, 
Or  pass  beyond  the  goal  of  ordinance, 
Where  all  should  pause,  as  is  most  meet  for  all  ?" 

The  "  goal  of  ordinance,"  at  Shayton,  being  death  from 
delirium  tremens. 

Mr.  Smethurst  would  have  been  much  surprised  if  anybody 
had  told  him  that  he  was  inducing  Ogden  to  drink  more  than 
was  good  for  him.  It  seemed  so  natural  to  drink  a  bottle  of 
brandy  !  And  Jerry,  too,  in  his  way,  was  a  temperate  man  — 
a  man  capable  of  self-control  —  a  man  who  had  made  a  reso- 
lution and  kept  it  for  many  years.  Jerry's  resolution  had 
been  never  to  drink  more  than  one  bottle  of  spirits  in  an 
evening ;  and,  as  he  said  sometimes,  it  was  "  all  howin'  to 
that  as  he  enjy'd  sich  gud  'ealth."  Therefore,  when  Mr. 
Simpson  had  placed  the  bottle  between  them,  Mr.  Smethurst 
made  a  little  mental  calculation.  He  was  strong  in  mental 
arithmetic.  "  I  've  'ad  three  glasses  afore  Hogden  coom,  so 
when  I  've  powered  him  out  three  glasses,  the  remainder  '11  be 
my  'lowance."  Therefore,  when  Isaac  had  mixed  his  third 
tumbler,  Jerry  Smethurst  rang  the  bell. 

"  Another  bottle  o'  brandy." 

Mr.  Simpson  stood  aghast  at  this  demand,  and  his  eyes 
naturally  reverted  to  the  bottle  upon  the  table.  "  You  've  not 
finished  that  yet,  gentlemen,"  he  ventured  to  observe. 

"  What 's  left  in  it  is  my  'lowance,"  said  Mr.  Smethurst. 
"Mr.  Hogden  shalln't  'ave  none  on  't." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  whimmy  gent,"  said  Mr.  Simpson  to  him- 
self—  but  he  fetched  another  bottle. 

They  made  a  regular  Red  Lion  evening  of  it,  those  two. 
A  little  before  midnight  Mr.  Smethurst  rose  and  said  Good 
night.  He  had  finished  his  bottle,  and  his  law  of  temper- 
ance, always  so  faithfully  observed,  forbade   him  one   drop 


Chap. XVII.  Isaac  Ogdcu  Again.  159 

more.  The  reader  probably  expects  that  Mr.  Smethurst  was 
intoxicated  ;  but  his  genial  nature  was  only  yet  more  genial. 
He  lighted  his  bed-candle  with  perfect  steadiness,  shook 
Ogden's  hand  affectionately,  and  mounted  the  stair  step  by 
step.  When  he  got  into  his  bedroom  he  undressed  himself 
in  a  methodical  manner,  laid  his  clothes  neatly  on  a  chair, 
wound  his  watch  up,  and  when  he  had  assumed  his  white 
cotton  night-cap,  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass.  He  put  his 
tongue  out,  and  held  the  candle  close  to  it.  The  result  of 
the  examination  was  satisfactory,  and  he  proceeded  to  pull 
down  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  This  he  did  every  night.  The 
bugbear  of  his  life  was  dread  of  a  coming  fit,  and  he  fancied 
he  might  thus  detect  the  premonitory  symptoms. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Ogden,  left  by  himself,  took  up  the  "  Sooty- 
thorn  Gazette,"  and  when  Mr.  Simpson  entered  he  found  him 
reading,  apparently.  "  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Simpson, 
"  but  it 's  the  rule  to  turn  the  gas  out  at  twelve,  and  it 's  a 
few  minutes  past.  I  '11  light  you  your  bed-candle,  sir,  and 
you  can  sit  up  a  bit  later  if  you  like.  You  '11  find  your  way 
to  your  room." 

Ogden  was  too  far  gone  to  have  any  power  of  controlling 
himself  now.  The  type  danced  before  his  eyes,  the  sentences 
ran  into  one  another,  and  the  sense  of  the  phrases  was  a 
mystery  to  him.  He  kept  drinking  mechanically ;  and  when 
at  length  he  attempted  to  reach  the  door,  the  candlestick 
slipped  from  his  hand,  and  the  light  was  instantly  extinguished. 

A  man  who  is  quite  drunk  cannot  find  the  door  of  a  dark 
room  —  he  cannot  even  walk  in  the  dark;  his  only  chance 
of  walking  in  broad  daylight  is  to  fix  his  eye  steadily  on 
some  object,  and  when  it  loses  its  hold  of  that,  to  fasten  it 
upon  some  other,  and  so  on.  Ogden  stumbled  against  the 
furniture  and  fell.  The  deep  insensibility  of  advanced  drunk- 
enness supervened,  and  he  lay  all  night  upon  the  floor.  The 
servant-girl  found  him  there  the  next  morning  when  she  came 
to  clean  the  room. 


i6o  Wenderholme.  Part  i 

He  could  not  go  to  Sootythorn  that  day,  and  the  true  reason 
for  his  absence  soon  became  known  to  Dr.  Bardly,  who  asked 
leave  to  drive  over  to  Shayton  to  see  a  patient  of  his  own. 
He  drove  directly  to  Milend. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Ogden,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  Ve  come  wi'  bad 
news  for  you  this  time.  Your  Isaac's  made  a  beast  of  him- 
self once  more.  He  lay  all  night  last  night  dead  drunk  upo' 
th'  parlor-floor  o'  th'  Blue  Bell  Inn  i'  Whittlecup." 

"  Why  —  you  don't  say  so,  Dr.  Bardly  !  Now,  really,  this 
is  provokin',  and  'im  as  was  quite  reformed,  as  one  may  say. 
I  could  like  to  whip  him  —  I  could." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  'd  just  go  to  Whittlecup  and  take  care 
of  him  while  he  stops  there.  If  he  'd  nobbut  stopped  at 
Sootythorn  I  could  have  minded  him  a  bit  mysen,  but  there  's 
nout  like  his  mother  for  managin'  him." 

Little  Jacob  was  staying  at  Milend  during  his  father's  mili- 
tary career,  and  so  Mrs.  Ogden  objected — "But  what's  to 
become  o'  th'  childt.?" 

"Take  him  with  ye  —  take  him  with  ye.  It'll  do  him  a 
power  o'  good,  and  it  '11  amuse  him  rarely.  He  '11  see  the 
chaps  with  their  red  jackets,  and  his  father  with  a  sword,  and 
a  fine  scarlet  coat  on  Sundays,  and  he  '11  be  as  fain  as  fain." 

So  it  was  immediately  decided  that  Mrs.  Ogden  and  little 
Jacob  should  leave  for  Whittlecup  as  soon  as  they  possibly 
could.  A  fly  was  sent  for,  and  Mrs,  Ogden  hastily  filled  two 
large  wooden  boxes,  which  were  her  portmanteaus.  Little 
Jacob  was  at  the  parsonage  with  the  youthful  Prigleys,  and 
had  to  be  sent  for.  Mrs.  Ogden  took  the  decanters  from  the 
corner  cupboard,  and  drank  two  glasses  of  port  to  sustain 
her  in  the  hurry  of  the  occasion.  "  Well,  who  would  have 
thought,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  ate  a  piece  of  cake  — 
"  who  would  have  thought  that  I  should  go  and  stop  at  Whit- 
tlecup }  I  wonder  how  soon  Mary  Ridge  will  have  finished 
my  new  black  satin." 


Chap.  XVIII,         Isaac  s  Mother  comes.  i6i 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

ISAAC'S     MOTHER    COMES. 

MRS.  OGDEN  and  her  grandson  reached  Sootythov  . 
rather  late  that  evening — namely,  about  eight  o'clock  , 
and  as  it  happened  that  she  knew  an  old  maid  there  —  one 
Miss  Mellor — whose  feelings  would  have  been  wounded  if 
Mrs.  Ogden  had  passed  through  Sootythorn  without  calling 
upon  her,  she  took  the  opportunity  of  doing  so  w-  ,ist  the 
horse  was  baited  at  the  inn.  The  driver  took  the  flv  straight 
to  the  Thorn  ;  and  when  Mr.  Garley  saw  a  lady  and  a  little 
boy  emerge  therefrom  he  concluded  that  they  intended  to 
stay  at  his  house,  and  came  with  his  apologies  for  want  of 
room.  "  But  we  can  let  you  'ave  a  nice  parlor,  mum,  to  take 
your  tea,  and  I  can  find  you  good  bedrooms  in  the  town." 

Mrs.  Ogden  declined  these  obliging  propositions,  in  the 
hope  that  Miss  Mellor  would  offer  her  a  night's  lodging.  It 
was  not  that  she  loved  Miss  Mellor  so  much  as  to  desire  to 
stay  longer  under  her  roof  than  was  necessary  to  keep  her  in 
a  good  temper,  but  she  had  made  sundry  reflections  on  the 
road.  "  If  I  stop  at  th'  Thorn  they  '11  charge  me  'appen  'alf- 
a-crown  for  my  bedroom,  and  Jane  Mellor  'ad  a  nice  spare 
bedroom  formerly.  It  really  is  no  use  throwin'  money  away 
on  inn-keepers.  And  then  there  's  our  tea  ;  they  '11  make  me 
pay  eighteenpence  or  two  shillin'  for  't  at  Garley's,  and  very 
likely  charge  full  as  much  for  little  Jacob.  It 's  quite  enough 
to  'ave  to  pay  seven  shillin'  for  th'  horse  and  fly."  And  in 
any  case  there  would  be  time  to  get  on  to  VVhittlecup  after 
the  horse  had  had  his  feed. 

II 


1 62  Wenderholme.  Part  i 

But  Miss  Mellor,  who  had  not  been  to  Shayton  or  heard 
direct  news  of  Shayton  for  several  years,  was  so  delighted  to 
see  Mrs.  Ogden  that  she  would  not  hear  of  her  going  for- 
ward that  night.  "  It 's  lucky  I  'appened  to  be  at  'ome,"  said 
Miss  Mellor,  "for  I'm  often  out  of  an  evening."  It  was 
lucky,  certainly,  for  little  Jacob,  who  got  a  much  better  tea 
than  he  would  have  done  at  the  Thorn  Inn,  with  quantities 
of  sweet  things  greatly  to  his  taste.  Little  Jacob  was  con- 
vinced that  there  was  nobody  in  the  world  so  kind  and  gen- 
erous as  his  grandmother,  yet  he  conceived  an  affection  for 
Miss  Mellor  also  before  the  close  of  the  evening. 

"  The  devil  take  the  people,"  said  Isaac  Ogden,  when  he 
got  back  from  Sootythorn  to  the  Blue  Bell,  and  had  gone  as 
usual  to  his  bedroom  there  — "  the  devil  take  the  people, 
they  've  hidden  all  my  things  !  " 

Just  then  came  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  ser- 
vant-maid entered.  "  Please,  sir,  your  mother  's  come,  and 
she  says  you  aren't  to  sleep  here  any  more,  sir  ;  and  she  's 
fetched  your  things  to  lodgings  that  she  's  took  over  Mr. 
Wood's,  the  shoemaker's." 

It  is  at  all  times  vexatious  and  humiliating  to  the  indepen- 
dent spirit  of  a  man  to  be  disposed  of  by  female  authority, 
but  it  is  most  especially  so  when  the  authority  is  one's  mamma. 
A  grown-up  man  will  submit  to  his  mother  on  most  points  if 
he  is  worth  any  thing,  but  the  best  of  sons  does  not  quite 
like  to  see  his  submission  absolutely  taken  for  granted. 
In  this  case  there  was  an  aggravation  in  the  look  of  the 
servant-girl.  Notwithstanding  the  respectful  modesty  of  her 
tone,  there  was  just  a  twinkle  of  satire  in  her  eye.  It 
was  plain  that  she  was  inwardly  laughing  at  the  Lieuten- 
ant. "  Damn  it !  "  he  said,  "  this  house  is  good  enough  for 
me ;  I  don't  want  to  leave  it."  Yet  he  did  leave,  never- 
theless. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  it  was  a  satisfaction  to 
Mrs.  Ogden  to  think  that   Isaac  would  be  professionally  com- 


CHAr.  XVIII.  Isaacs  Mother  co7nes.  163 

pelled  to  attend  public  worship.  Little  Jacob  was  one  of  the 
crowd  of  spectators  who  gathered  round  the  company  when 
it  was  mustered  for  church-parade.  He  was  proud  of  his 
resplendent  papa  —  a  papa  all  scarlet  and  silver ;  and  it  was 
a  matter  of  peculiar  anxiety  with  him  that  they  should  sit  in 
the  same  pew.  Mr.  Ogden  gratified  him  in  this  respect,  and 
the  child  felt  himself  the  most  important  young  personage  in 
Whittlecup.  A  steady  attention  to  the  service  is  not  com- 
monly characteristic  of  little  boys ;  and  on  this  occasion  little 
Jacob's  eye  was  so  continually  caught  by  the  glitter  of  his 
father's  gold  sword-knot  and  the  silver  embroidery  on  his 
sleeve,  that  he  followed  the  clergyman  much  less  regularly 
than  usual. 

The  neighborhood  of  Whittlecup  was  not  aristocratic,  but 
there  were  one  or  two  manufacturing  families  of  rather  a 
superior  description.  One  of  these  families,  the  Anisons, 
were  at  church  not  far  from  the  pew  which  the  Ogdens 
occupied.  They  lived  at  a  house  near  Whittlecup  called 
Arkwright  Lodge,  in  a  comfortable  manner,  with  most  of 
those  refinements  of  civilization  which  are  to  be  met  with  in 
the  houses  of  rich  professional  men  in  London.  Mr.  Anison, 
indeed,  was  a  manufacturer  of  the  new  school,  whilst  Jacob 
Ogden  belonged  to  the  old  one.  Men  of  the  Anison  class 
sometimes  make  large  fortunes,  but  they  more  frequently 
content  themselves  with  a  moderate  independence  and  a 
sufficient  provision  for  their  families.  Money  does  not  seem 
to  them  an  end  in  itself,  but  they  value  the  comforts  and 
refinements  which  it  procures  and  which  cannot  be  had 
without  it.  Jacob  Ogden,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not  care  a 
fig  for  comforts  and  refinements,  and  had  no  domestic  objects  : 
his  only  purpose  was  the  inward  satisfaction  and  the  outward 
glory  of  being  rich.  Mr.  Anison  worked  in  moderation,  spent 
a  good  deal,  saved  something,  and  kept  a  very  hospitable 
house,  where  everybody  who  had  the  slightest  imaginable 
claim  upon  his  kindness  was  always  heartily  welcome. 


164  Wcnderholme.  Part  1. 

After  Philip  Stanburne's  accident  he  had  been  immediately 
moved  to  Arkwright  Lodge,  in  compliance  with  the  surgeon's 
advice  and  Mr.  Anison's  urgent  request.  Here  he  had  rap- 
idly passed  into  a  state  of  agreeable  convalescence,  and 
found  the  house  so  pleasant  that  the  prospect  of  a  perfect 
recovery,  and  consequent  departure,  was  not  very  attractive 
to  him  now. 

When  the  service  in  Whittlecup  church  was  over,  Joseph 
Anison  went  straight  to  Mr.  Ogdea's  pew  and  reminded  him 
that  he  had  promised  to  dine  that  day  at  Arkwright  Lodge. 
When  they  got  out  of  the  church,  Isaac  presented  his  mother 
to  Mr.  Anison,  and  to  Mrs.  Anison  also,  who  joined  them  in 
the  midst  of  that  ceremony.  This  was  followed  by  a  polite 
little  speech  from  Mrs.  Anison  (she  was  an  adept  in  polite 
little  speeches),  to  the  effect  that,  as  Mr.  Ogden  had  kindly 
promised  to  eat  a  dinner  and  pay  his  first  call  at  the  Lodge 
at  the  same  time,  his  duties  in  the  militia  having  prevented 
him  from  calling  during  the  week,  perhaps  they  might  hope 
that  Mrs.  Ogden  would  allow  them  to  call  upon  her  at  once 
at  her  lodgings,  and  then  would  she  come  with  her  son  to  the 
Lodge  to  spend  the  afternoon  ?  So  when  the  militia-men 
were  disbanded,  the  Anisons  accompanied  the  Ogdens  to  the 
lodging  over  Mr.  Wood's,  the  shoemaker. 

It  was  a  very  fine  May  morning,  and  they  had  all  come  on 
foot.  There  are  families  in  Sootythorn  (perhaps  also  there 
may  be  families  out  of  Sootythorn)  who,  though  living  within 
a  very  short  distance  of  their  parish  church,  go  thither  always 
in  their  carriages  —  on  the  same  principle  which  causes  the 
Prince  of  Wales  to  go  from  Marlborough  House  to  St  James's 
Palace  in  a  state-coach  —  namely,  for  the  maintenance  of 
their  dignity.  But  though  the  Anisons'  carriage  was  an 
institution  sufiiciently  recent  to  have  still  some  of  the  charms 
of  novelty,  they  dispensed  with  it  as  much  as  possible  on 
Sundays. 

The  young  ladies  had  gone  slowly  forwards   towards  the 


Chap.  XVIII.         Isaac s  Mother  comcs.  165 

Lodge  with  the  clergyman,  who  had  a  standing  invitation  to 
dine  there  whenever  he  came  to  Whittlecup.  Mrs.  Ogden's 
great  regret  in  going  to  dine  at  the  Lodge  was  for  the  dinner 
she  left  behind  her,  and  she  did  not  hesitate  to  express  it. 
"  It  seems  quite  a  pity,"  she  said,  "  to  leave  them  ducks  and 
green  peas  —  they  were  such  fine  ducks,  and  we  're  all  of  us 
very  fond  o'  ducks,  'specially  when  we  've  green  peas  to  'em." 
After  this  little  speech,  she  paused  regretfully,  as  if  meditat- 
ing on  the  delightfulness  of  the  ducks,  and  then  she  added, 
more  cheerfully,  "  But  what  — ducks  are  very  good  cold,  and 
they  '11  do  very  well  for  supper  to-morrow  night,  when  our 
Isaac  comes  back  from  Sootythorn." 

The  dinner  at  the  Lodge  was  good  enough  to  compensate 
even  for  the  one  left  untasted  at  the  shoemaker's,  and  nobody 
did  better  justice  to  it  than  the  Rev.  iVbel  Blunting.  A  man 
may  well  be  hungry  who  has  preached  vehemently  for  seventy 
minutes,  and  eaten  nothing  since  seven  in  the  morning,  which 
was  Mr.  Blunting's  habitual  breakfast-hour.  He  was  a  very 
agreeable  guest,  and  worth  his  salt.  He  had  a  vein  of  rich 
humor  approaching  to  joviality,  yet  he  drank  only  water.  On 
this  matter  of  teetotalism  he  was  by  no  means  fanatical,  but 
he  said  simply  that  in  his  office  of  minister  it  was  useful  to 
his  work  amongst  the  poor.  Mrs.  Ogden  sat  next  to  him  at 
table,  and  was  perfectly  delighted  with  him.  The  Rev.  Abel 
perceived  at  once  what  manner  of  woman  she  was,  and 
talked  to  her  accordingly.  When  he  found  out  that  she 
came  from  Shayton,  he  said  that  he  had  a  great  respect  for 
Shayton,  it  was  such  a  sound  Protestant  community  —  there 
was  not  a  single  Papist  in  the  place  —  Popery  had  no  hold 
there.  Unfortunately,  when  Mr.  Blunting  made  this  observa- 
tion, there  happened  to  be  a  lull  in  the  talk,  and  it  was 
audible  to  everybody,  including  Philip  Stanburne,  who  was 
well  enough  to  sit  at  table.  Poor  Mrs.  Anison  began  to  feel 
very  uncomfortable,  but  as  Mr.  Blunting  sat  next  to  her,  she 
whispered  to  him  that  they  had  a  Roman  Catholic  at  table. 


1 66  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

This  communication  not  having  been  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  by  Mrs.  Ogden,  who,  never  having  sat  down  with  a 
Roman  Catholic  in  her  life,  was  incapable  of  imagining  such 
a  contingency,  that  lady  replied,  — 

"  Shayton  folk  believe  i'  th'  Bible." 

"  And  may  I  ask,"  said  Philip,  very  loudly  and  resolutely 
from  the  other  end  of  the  table,  "  what  Catholics  be- 
lieve   in.-"" 

"  Why,  they  believe  i'  th'  Koran." 

The  hearers  —  and  everybody  present  had  heard  Mrs.  Og- 
den distinctly  —  could  not  credit  their  ears.  Each  thought 
that  he  must  be  mistaken  —  that  by  some  wholly  unaccount- 
able magic  he  had  heard  the  word  "  Koran  "  when  it  had 
been  pronounced  by  no  mortal  lips.  Nobody  laughed  — 
nobody  even  smiled.  There  is  a  degree  of  astonishment 
which  stuns  the  sense  of  humor.  Every  one  held  his  breath 
when  Mr.  Blunting  spoke. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  he  said,  respectfully,  "  you  are  somewhat 
mistaken.  You  appear  to  have  confounded  the  Papal  and 
the  Mohammedan  religions." 

What  Mrs.  Ogden's  answer  may  have  been  does  not  matter 
very  much,  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Anison  both  saw  the  necessity 
for  an  immediate  diversion,  and  talked  about  something  else 
in  the  most  determined  manner.  On  reflection,  Philip 
Stanburne  thought  his  Church  quite  sufficiently  avenged 
already.  "  As  I  believe  in  the  Koran,"  he  said  to  Miss 
Anison,  "  I  may  marry  four  wives.  What  an  advantage  tliat 
will  be!" 

"  You  horrible  man  !  " 

"  Why  am  I  a  horrible  man  ?  Why  are  you  so  ungracious 
to  me .''  The  Sultan  and  the  Viceroy  of  Egypt  are  like  me 
—  they  believe  in  the  Koran  —  and  they  act  upon  their  belief 
as  I  intend  to  do.  Yet  a  Christian  queen  has  been  gracious 
to  Ihem.  She  did  not  tell  them  they  were  horrible  men. 
Why  should  you   not  be  gracious  to  me  in  the  same  way? 


Chap.  XVIII.  Isaac  s  Mother  comes.  167 

When  I  have  married  my  four  wives,  you  will  come  and  visit 
me,  won't  you,  in  my  palace  on  the  Bosphorus  ?  Black 
slaves  shall  bring  you  coffee  in  a  little  jewelled  cup,  and 
your  lips  shall  touch  the  amber  mouth-piece  of  a  diamonded 
chibouque." 

"  But  then  your  four  wives  will  all  be  Orientals,  and  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  talk  to  them." 

The  Misses  Anison  were  not  the  only  young  ladies  at  the 
table.  Philip  Stanburne  had  a  neighbor  on  his  left  hand 
who  interested  him  even  more  than  the  brilliant  girl  on  his 
right.  This  was  Miss  Alice  Stedman,  whom  he  had  seen  in 
the  bookseller's  shop  at  Sootythorn. 

"  And  if  you  believe  in  the  Koran,"  said  Miss  Stedman, 
"  you  ought  to  show  it  by  refusing  to  drink  wine." 

"  Ah,  then,  I  renounce  Mohammed,  that  I  may  have  the 
pleasure  of  drinking  wine  with  you.  Miss  Stedman !  "  This 
was  said  with  perfect  grace,  and  in  the  little  ceremony  which 
followed,  the  young  gentleman  contrived  to  express  so  much 
respect  and  admiration  for  his  fair  neighbor,  that  Mrs.  Anison 
took  note  of  it.  "  Mr.  Stanburne  is  in  love  with  Alice,"  she 
said  to  herself. 

"  Would  you  renounce  your  religion  for  love  ? "  asked 
Madge  Anison,  in  a  low  tone. 

Philip  felt  a  sudden  sensation,  as  if  a  doctor  had  just 
probed  him.  Garibaldi  felt  the  corresponding  physical  pain 
when  Nelaton  found  the  bullet. 

He  turned  slowly  and  looked  at  Madge.  There  was  a 
strange  expression  about  her  lips,  and  the  perennial  merri- 
ment had  faded  from  her  face.  "  Are  you  speaking  seriously, 
Miss  Anison,  I  wonder?" 

The  talk  was  noisy  enough  all  round  the  table  to  isolate 
the  two  completely.  Even  Miss  Stedman  was  listening  to 
her  loud-voiced  neighbor,  the  Lieutenant.  Madge  Anison 
looked  straight  at  Philip,  and  said,  "  Yes,  I  am  speaking 
seriously." 


1 68  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

"  I  believe  I  should  not,  now.  But  nobody  knows  what 
he  may  do  when  he  is  in  love." 

"  You  are  in  love." 

This  time  the  room  whirled,  and  the  voices  sounded  like 
the  murmur  of  a  distant  sea.  In  an  instant  Philip  Stanburne 
passed  from  one  state  of  life  to  another  state  of  life.  A 
crisis,  which  changed  the  whole  future  of  four  persons  there 
present,  occurred  in  the  world  of  his  consciousness.  His 
imagination  rioted  in  wild  day-dreams  ;  but  one  picture  rose 
before  him  with  irresistible  vividness  —  a  picture  of  Alice 
kneeling  with  him  under  a  canopy,  before  the  high  altar  at 
St.  Agatha's. 

A  slight  pressure  on  his  left  arm  recalled  him  to  the  actual 
world.  The  ladies  were  all  leaving  their  seats,  and  Madge 
had  kindly  reminded  him  where  he  was. 

"  A  sad  place  for  drinking  is  Shayton,"  observed  Mr. 
Blunting,  as  he  poured  himself  a  glass  of  pure  water.  "  I 
wonder  if  one  could  do  any  good  there  ? " 

"  They  're  past  curing,  mostly,  are  Shayton  folk,"  answered 
John  Stedman.     "  Are  not  they,  Mr.  Ogden?" 

"  There  's  one  here  that  is,  I  'm  afraid,"  answered  Isaac, 
with  much  humility. 

Mr.  Blunting  inquired,  with  sympathy  in  his  tone,  whether 
Mr.  Ogden  had  himself  fallen  under  temptation.  When 
Isaac  confessed  his  backslidings  of  the  past  week,  the  rev- 
erend gentleman  requested  permission  to  see  him  in  private. 
Isaac  had  a  dislike  to  clergymen  in  general,  and  in  matters 
of  religion  rather  shared  the  latitudinarian  views  of  his  friend 
Dr.  Bardly  ;  but  he  was  in  a  state  of  profound  moral  dis- 
couragement, and  ready  to  be  grateful  to  any  one  who 
held  out  prospects  of  effectual  help.  So  it  ended  by  his 
accepting  an  invitation  to  take  tea  at  the  parsonage  at  Sooty- 
thorn. 

"  If  you  take  tea  with  Mr.  Blunting,"  said  Joseph  Anison, 
"you  must  mind  he  doesn't  inoculate  you  with  his  own  sort 


Chap.  XVIII.  Isaac  s  Mother  covies.  1(39 

of  intemperance,  if  he  cures  you  of  your  little  excesses.  He 
drinks  tea  enough  in  a  year  to  float  a  canal-boat.  It 's  a 
terribly  bad  habit.  In  my  opinion  it 's  far  worse  than  drink- 
ing brandy.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  it  makes  men  like  gossip 
just  as  women  do.  Stick  to  your  brandy-bottle,  Mr.  Ogden, 
like  a  man,  and  let  Mr.  Blunting  empty  his  big  tea-pot !  " 


1  /O  Wenderholme.  part  i. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE   COLONEL   AT    WHITTLECUP. 

WHILST  the  gentlemen  were  still  in  the  dining-room, 
Mr.  Blunting  saw  a  horse  pass  the  window  —  a  rider- 
less, yet  harnessed  horse  — followed  by  another  horse  in  an 
unaccustomed  manner ;  and  then  came  a  lofty  vehicle,  drawn 
by  the  latter  animal.  I  have  described  this  equipage  as  it 
appeared  to  Mr.  Blunting ;  but  the  experienced  reader  will 
perceive  that  it  was  a  tandem,  and  by  the  association  of  ideas 
will  expect  to  see  Fyser  and  the  Colonel. 

Colonel  Stanburne  came  into  the  dining-room,  and  soon 
made  himself  at  home  there.  He  had  never  happened  to 
meet  Joseph  Anison  or  Mr.  Stedman,  but  he  knew  the  incum- 
bent of  Sootythorn  slightly,  and  the  other  two  men  were  his 
own  officers,  though  he  had  as  yet  seen  very  little  of  either 
of  them.  The  Stanburnes  of  Wenderholme  held  a  position 
in  all  that  part  of  the  country  so  far  above  that  to  which 
their  mere  wealth  would  have  entitled  them  (for  there  were 
manufacturers  far  richer  than  the  Colonel),  that  Joseph  An- 
ison felt  it  an  honor  that  the  head  of  that  family  should  have 
entered  his  gates.  "He  's  only  calling  on  young  Stanburne," 
thought  Joseph  Anison  ;  "he  isn't  calling  upon  us." 

"  I  came  to  thank  you  and  Mrs.  Anison,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  for  having  so  kindly  taken  care  of  our  young  friend  here. 
He  seems  to  be  getting  on  uncommonly  well  ;  and  no  won- 
der, when  he  's  in  such  good  quarters." 

"  Captain  Stanburne  is  gaining  strength,  I  am  glad  to  say," 


Chap.  XIX.       The  Coloiiel  at  Wliittlecup.  171 

replied  the  master  of  the  house.  "  He  rather  alarmed  us 
when  he  came  here,  he  seemed  so  weak  ;  but  he  has  coine 
round  wonderfully." 

"  I  am  very  much  better,  certainly,"  said  the  patient  himself. 

'i'he  commanding  officer  hoped  he  would  be  fit  for  duly 
again  at  an  early  date,  but  Captain  Stanburne  declared  that 
he  did  not  feel  strong  enough  yet  to  be  equal  to  the  march 
and  the  drill  ;  that  he  was  subject  to  frequent  sensations  of 
giddiness,  which  would  make  him  most  uncomfortable,  if  not 
useless,  on  the  parade-ground  ;  and  that,  in  a  word,  he  was 
best  for  the  present  where  he  was.  This  declaration  was  ac- 
companied by  due  expressions  of  regret  for  the  way  in  which 
he  abused  the  kind  hospitality  of  the  Anisons  —  expressions 
which,  of  course,  drew  forth  from  the  good  host  a  cordial 
renewal  of  his  lease. 

"  And  what  have  you  done  with  the  Irishman  who  nearly 
killed  him.?"  asked  Mr.  Anison  of  the  Colonel.  "I've 
heard  nothing  about  him.  If  you  'd  had  him  shot,  we  should 
have  heard  of  it." 

"  It  was  a  perplexing  case.  If  you  consider  the  man  a 
soldier,  the  punishment  is  most  severe  —  in  fact  it  is  death, 
even  if  he  did  not  mean  to  kill.  But  we  hardly  could  con- 
sider him  a  soldier  —  he  had  had  no  military  experience  — a 
raw  Irish  laborer,  who  had  never  worn  a  uniform.  I  have 
been  unwilling  to  bring  the  man  before  a  court-martial.  He 
is  in  prison  still." 

"  He  has  been  punished  enough,"  said  Philip.  "  Pray  con- 
sider him  simply  as  having  been  drunk.  Irishmen  are  always 
combative  when  they  are  drunk.  It  was  not  a  deliberate 
attack  upon  me  as  his  officer.  The  man  was  temporarily  out 
of  his  senses,  and  struck  blindly  about  him." 

It  having  been  settled  that  the  Irishman  was  to  be  par- 
doned on  the  intercession  of  Captain  Stanburne,  the  Colonel 
begged  to  be  presented  to  Mrs.  Anison.  "  He  had  not  much 
time,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch  ;  "  he  had  to  be  back  in 


1 7  2  We7idej'holme.  Part  i. 

Sootythorn  in  time  tor  mess,  and  he  was  anxious  to  pay  his 
respects  to  the  lady  of  the  house." 

So  they  all  went  into  the  drawing-room.  After  the  intro- 
ductory bows,  the  Colonel  perceived  our  friend,  little  Jacob 
(who  had  retreated  with  the  ladies)  ;  but  as  he  had  not  quite 
finished  his  little  speech  to  Mrs.  Anison  about  her  successful 
nursing,  he  did  not  as  yet  take  any  direct  notice  of  him. 
When  the  duties  of  politeness  had  been  fully  performed,  the 
Colonel  beckoned  for  little  Jacob,  and  when  he  came  to  him, 
laid  both  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  And  so  you  're  here,  too,  are  you,  young  man  ?  I  thought 
you  were  at  Shayton  with  your  grandmamma." 

Lieutenant  Ogden  came  up  at  this  instant  to  excuse  him- 
self. "  My  mother  only  came  to  Whittlecup  yesterday,  Col- 
onel, and  she  brought  my  little  boy  with  her."  Mrs.  Ogden 
approached  the  group. 

"I'm  little  Jacob's  grandmother,"  she  said,  "and  I'm 
mother  to  this  great  lad  here  "  (pointing  to  the  Lieutenant), 
"and  it's  as  much  as  ever  I  can  do  to  take  care  of  him. 
What  did  you  send  him  by  himself  to  Whittlecup  for.!*  You 
should  have  known  better  nor  that ;  sending  a  drunkard  like 
him  to  stop  by  hisself  in  a  public-house.  If  he  's  a  back- 
slider now,  it 's  'long  o'  them  as  turned  him  into  temptation, 
same  as  a  cow  into  a  clover-field.  I  wish  he  'd  never  come 
into  th'  malicious  (militia)  —  I  do  so." 

The  Colonel  was  little  accustomed  to  be  spoken  to  with 
that  unrestrained  frankness  whicii  characterizes  the  in- 
habitants of  Shayton,  and  felt  a  temporary  embarrassment 
under  Mrs.  Ogden's  onslaught.  "  Well,  Mrs.  Ogden,  let 
us  hope  that  Mr.  Isaac  will  be  safe  now  under  your  pro- 
tection." 

"  Safe  ?  Ay,  he  is  safe  now,  I  reckon,  when  he  's  getten 
his  mother  to  take  care  of  him  ;  and  there's  more  on  ye  as 
wants  your  mothers  to  take  care  on  ye,  by  all  accounts." 

"Mother,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  "you  shouldn't  talk  so  to 


Chap.  XIX.       The  Coloiiel  at  Whittlecup.  173 

the  Colonel.  You  should  bear  in  mind  how  he  kept  little 
Jacob  at  Wenderholme  Hall." 

Mrs.  Ogden  was  pacified  immediately,  and  held  out  her 
hand.  "  I  thank  you  for  that,"  she  said,  "  you  were  very 
kind  to  th'  childt ;  and  I  've  been  doin'  a  piece  of  needlework 
ever  since  for  your  wife,  but  it  willn't  be  finished  while 
Christmas." 

"  Mother,  you  shouldn't  say  '  your  wife  '  —  you  should  say 
*  her  ladyship,' "  observed  the  Lieutenant,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  My  wife  will  be  greatly  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Ogden.  I 
hope  you  will  make  her  acquaintance  before  you  leave  the 
regiment;  for  I  may  say  that  you  belong  to  the  regiment  now, 
since  you  have  come  to  be  Lieutenant  Ogden's  commanding 
officer." 

Mrs.  Anison  had  been  first  an  astonished  and  then  an 
amused  auditor  of  this  colloquy,  but  she  ended  it  by  offering 
Mrs.  Ogden  a  cup  of  tea.  Then  the  Colonel  began  to  talk 
to  Mrs.  Anison.  He  had  that  hearty  and  frank  enjoyment  of 
the  society  of  ladies  which  is  not  only  perfectly  compatible 
with  morality,  but  especially  belongs  to  it  as  one  of  its  best 
attributes  and  privileges.  Good  women  liked  the  Colonel, 
and  the  Colonel  liked  good  women  ;  he  liked  them  none  the 
less  when  they  were  handsome,  as  Mrs.  Anison  was,  and 
when  .they  could  talk  well  and  easily,  as  she  did.  Some 
women  are  distinguished  by  nature  ;  and  though  Mrs.  Anison 
had  seen  little  of  the  great  world,  and  the  Colonel  had  seen 
a  good  deal  of  it,  the  difference  of  experience  did  not  place  a 
perceptible  barrier  between  them.  The  time  seemed  to  have 
passed  rapidly  for  both  when  the  visitor  took  his  leave. 


1 74  Wender holme.  part  i. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PHILIP    STANBURNE   IN   LOVE. 

IF  any  rational  and  worldly-minded  adviser  had  said  to 
Philip  Stanburne  a  month  before,  "Why  don't  you  look 
out  for  some  well-to-do  cotton-spinner's  daughter  in  Sooty- 
thorn  ?  you  might  pick  up  a  good  fortune,  that  would  mend 
the  Stanithburn  property,  and  you  might  find  a  nice  well- 
educated  girl,  who  would  do  you  quite  as  much  credit  as  if  she 
belonged  to  one  of  the  old  families"  —  if  any  counsel  of  this 
kind  had  been  offered  to  Philip  Stanburne  then,  before  he 
saw  Alice  Stedman,  he  would  have  rejected  it  at  once  as  being 
altogether  inadmissible.  He,  the  representative  of  the  house 
of  Stanburne,  connect  himself  with  a  family  of  cotton-spinners  ! 
He,  the  dutiful  son  of  the  Church,  ally  himself  with  a  mem- 
ber of  one  of  those  heretical  sects  who  insult  her  in  her 
affliction  !  Our  general  views  of  things  may,  however,  be 
very  decided,  and  admit,  nevertheless,  of  exception  in  favor 
of  persons  who  are  known  to  us.  To  hate  Protestants  in 
general  —  to  despise  the  commercial  classes  as  a  body  —  is 
one  thing  ;  but  to  hate  and  despise  a  gentle  maiden,  whose 
voice  sounds  sweetly  in  our  ears,  is  quite  another  thing. 

"  She 's  as  perfect  a  lady  as  any  I  ever  saw,"  thought 
Philip,  as  she  walked  before  him  in  the  garden  at  Arkwright 
Lodge.  A  closer  social  critic  might  have  answered,  that 
although  Alice  Stedman  was  a  very  admirable  and  good 
young  woman,  absolutely  free  from  the  least  taint  of  vul- 
garity, she  lacked  the  style  and  "  go  "  of  a  young  lady  of  the 
world.     Her  deficiency  in  this  respect  may,  however,  have 


Chap.  XX.        Philip  StanbiiTue  iit  Love.  175 

gone  far  to  produce  the  charm  which  attracted  Philip.  Alice 
had  not  the  aplofnb  of  a  fine  lady,  nor  the  brilliance  of  a 
clever  woman  ;  but  nature  had  given  her  a  stamp  of  gen- 
uineness which  is  sometimes  effaced  by  the  attrition  of 
society. 

"  It 's  wrong  of  me  to  have  taken  possession  of  you,  Cap- 
tain Stanburne,"  said  Margaret  Anison ;  "  I  see  you  are 
longing  to  be  with  Alice  Stedman  —  you  would  be  a  great 
deal  happier  with  her  ; "  and,  wdthout  consulting  him  further, 
she  called  her  sister,  adding,  "  I  beg  pardon,  Lissy,  but  I 
want  to  say  something  to  Sarah." 

Of  course,  as  Miss  Anison  had  some  private  communi- 
cation to  make  to  her  sister,  Philip  and  Alice  had  nothing  to 
do  but  s'eloigner.  The  young  gentleman  offered  his  arm, 
-which  was  accepted,  and  they  went  on  down  a  deviously 
winding  walk.  Alice  looked  round,  and  seeing  nobody,  said, 
"  Hadn't  we  better  wait,  or  go  back  a  little  ?  we  have  been 
walking  faster  than  they  have."  Philip  did  as  he  was  bid, 
not  precisely  knowing  or  caring  which  way  he  went.  But 
the  young  ladies  were  not  there. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  at  last,  "  we  should  do  better  to  go  in 
our  first  direction,  as  they  will  expect  us  to  do.  Very  likely 
Miss  Anison  may  have  taken  her  sister  to  the  house,  to  show 
her  something,  and  they  will  meet  us  in  the  garden  again,  if 
we  go  in  the  direction  they  calculate  upon."  So  they  turned 
round  and  walked  down  the  winding  path  again. 

"You  often  come  to  this  place,  I  believe,"  said  Philip. 
"The  Anisons  are  old  friends  of  yours,  are  they  not.  Miss 
Stedman  ? " 

"  Oh  yes  ;  I  come  to  stay  here  very  often.  The  Anisons 
are  very  kind  to  me." 

"  They  are  kind  to  me  also.  Miss  Stedman,  and  yet  I  have 
no  claim  of  old  acquaintance.  A  fortnight  since  I  did  not 
even  know  their  name,  and  yet  it  seems  to  me  now  as  if  I 
had  known  them  for  years.      You  are  rather  an  older  ac- 


176  Wenderkolme.  part  i. 

quaintance,   Miss   Stedman.     I   had  the  pleasure  of   seeing 
you  at  Sootythorn  before  I  came  to  Whittlecup." 

Alice  looked  up  at  her  companion  rather  archly,  and  said, 
"  You  mean  in  the  bookseller's  shop  ? " 

"  Yes,  when  you  came  to  buy  a  book  of  sermons.  Shall 
I  tell  you  what  book  you  ordered  ?  I  remember  the  name 
perfectly.     It  was  '  Blunting's   Sermons  on   Popery.' " 

"  So  you  were  listening,  were  you  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  listening  when  I  heard  your  voice  for  the  first 
time,  but  I  listened  very  attentively  afterwards.  My  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  the  title  of  the  book.  You  know  that 
I  am  a  Catholic,  Miss  Stedman  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Alice,  very  briefly,  and  in  a  tone  which  seemed 
to  endeavor  not  to  imply  disapprobation. 

"And  perhaps  you  know  that  Catholics  don't  quite  like  to 
hear  their  religion  called  '  Popery.'  So  I  was  a  little  irri- 
tated ;  but  then  I  reflected  that  as  the  title  of  the  book  was 
so,  you  could  not  order  it  by  another  name  than  the  name 
upon  its  titlepage."  Here  there  was  a  pause,  as  Alice  did 
not  speak.     Philip  resumed, — 

"Do  you  live  in  Sootythorn,  Miss  Stedman?" 

"  Not  far  out  of  the  town.  Indeed  our  house  is  surrounded 
by  buildings  now.     It  used  to  be  quite  in  the  country." 

"I  —  I  should  like  to  call  upon  Mr.  Stedman  very  much 
when  I  am  quite  well  again." 

For  some  seconds  there  was  no  answer.  Then  Alice  said 
in  a  low  tone,  almost  inaudible,  "  I  should  be  very  glad  to 
see  you  again." 

A  heavy  and  rapid  step  on  the  gravel  behind  them  abruptly 
ended  this  interesti^ig  conversation. 

It  was  not  Madge  Anison's  step.  They  stopped  and  looked 
round.     The  Reverend  Abel  Blunting  confronted  them. 

If  poor  Alice  had  not  had  that  miserable  habit  of  blush- 
ing, the  reverend  gentleman  would  have  perceived  nothing 
beyond   the  simple  fact   that  the  young  lady  was  walking  in 


Chap.  XX.        Philip  Staiibume  in  Love.  177 

a  garden  with  Mr.  Philip  Stanburne.  But  Alice's  face  was 
suffused  with  crimson,  and  the  Icnowledge  that  it  was  so 
made  her  so  uncomfortable  that  she  blushed  more  than  ever. 
In  spite  of  his  manhood,  there  was  a  slightly  heightened  color 
on  Philip's  cheek  also,  but  a  good  deal  of  this  may  be  attrib- 
uted to  vexation  at  what  he  was  disposed  to  consider  an 
ill-timed  and  unwarrantable  intrusion. 

"  Good  morning.  Miss  Alice  1  I  hope  you  are  quite  well : 
and  you,  sir,  I  wish  you  good  morning;  I  hope  I  see  you 
well." 

Philip  bowed,  a  little  stiffly,  and  Alice  proceeded  to  make 
hasty  inquiries  about  her  papa.  Did  Mr.  Blunting  know  if 
hei  papa  had  changed  his  intentions  ? 

Mr.  Blunting  was  always  very  polite,  the  defect  in  his 
manners  (betraying  that  he  was  not  quite  a  gentleman)  being 
that  they  were  only  too  deferential.  He  had  a  fatherly  affec- 
tion for  Alice  Stedman,  whose  spiritual  guide  he  had  been 
from  her  infancy,  and  it  was  certainly  the  very  first  time  in 
her  life  that  she  had  seen  him  without  feelings  of  unmingled 
satisfaction. 

"  I  have  come  to  fetch  you  myself.  Miss  Alice.  I  met  your 
p^pa  in  Sootythorn  this  morning  as  I  was  leaving  in  my  gig, 
and  he  asked  if  I  were  coming  to  Whittlecup.  So  he  re- 
quested me  to  offer  you  the  vacant  seat,  Miss  Alice,  which  I 
now  do  with  great  pleasure."  Here  Mr.  Blunting  made  a 
sort  of  a  bow.  There  was  an  unctuousness  in  his  courtesy 
that  irritated  Philip,  but  perhaps  Philip  envied  him  his  place 
in  the  gig. 

"  Are  we  going  to  leave  immediately,  then  ? "  inquired 
Miss  Stedman,  in  a  tone  which  did  not  imply  the  most 
perfect  satisfaction  with  these  arrangements. 

"  Mrs.  Anison  has  been  so  kind  as  to  invite  me  to  dine, 
and  I  have  accepted."  Mr.  Blunting  was  too  honest  to  say 
that  Miss  Alice  ought  to  dine  before  her  drive.  He  accepted 
avowedly  in  his  own  interest.     He  had  a  large  body  to  nour- 

12 


17^  Wenderholme.  Part  l 

ish,  he  had  to  supply  energies  for  an  enormous  amount  of 
work,  and  the  dinners  at  the  Sootythorn  parsonage  were  not 
always  very  succulent.  He  therefore  thought  it  not  wrong 
to  accept  effective  aid  in  his  labors  when  it  offered  itself  in 
the  shape  of  hospitality. 

At  dessert  the  clergyman  found  an  opportunity  of  convey- 
ing, not  too  directly,  a  little  hint  or  lesson  which  he  felt  it 
his  duty  to  convey,  and  which  had  been  tormenting  him 
since  the  meeting  in  the  garden.  The  conversation,  which 
at  Whittlecup,  as  elsewhere,  very  generally  ran  upon  people 
known  to  the  speakers,  had  turned  to  a  case  of  separation 
between  a  neighboring  country  gentleman  and  his  wife,  who 
were,  or  had  been,  of  different  religions. 

"Marriages  of  that  kind,"  said  Mr.  Blunting,  "between 
people  of  different  religions,  seldom  turn  out  happily,  and  it 
is  a  great  imprudence  to  contract  them." 

Mrs.  Anison  expressed  a  hearty  concurrence  in  this  view, 
but  certain  young  persons  present  believed  that,  however  just 
Mr.  Blunting's  observation  might  be,  considered  generally, 
there  must  be  exceptions  to  a  rule  so  discouraging. 


Chap.  XXI.        The  Weiiderholme  Coach.  1 79 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   WENDERHOLME   COACH. 

'TT^HE  distance  from  Wenderholme  to  Sootythorn  was  rather 
-*-  inconveniently  great,  being  about  twenty  miles ;  and  as 
there  was  no  railway  in  that  direction,  the  Colonel  determined 
to  set  up  a  four-in-hand,  which  he  facetiously  entitled  "  The 
Wenderholme  Coach."  The  immediate  purpose  of  the  Wen- 
derholme coach  was  to  enable  the  ofificers  to  enjoy  more  fre- 
quently the  hospitalities  of  the  Hall ;  but  it  may  be  admitted 
that  John  Stanburne  had  a  natural  gift  for  driving,  and  also  a 
cultivated  taste  for  that  amusement,  which  may  have  had  their 
influence  in  deciding  him  to  add  this  item  to  his  establishment. 
He  had  driven  his  tandem  so  long  now,  that,  though  it  was 
still  very  agreeable  to  him,  it  no  longer  offered  any  excite- 
ment ;  but  his  experience  of  a  four-in-hand  was  much  more 
limited,  and  it  therefore  presented  many  of  the  allurements 
of  novelty.  Nothing  is  more  agreeable  than  a  perfect  harmony 
between  our  duties  towards  others  and  our  private  tastes  and 
predilections.  It  was  clearly  a  duty  to  offer  hospitality  to  the 
ofificers  ;  and  the  hospitality  would  be  so  much  more  graceful 
if  Wenderholme  were  brought  nearer  to  Sootythorn  by  a  capa- 
cious conveyance  travelling  at  high  speed,  and  with  the  style 
befitting  a  company  of  ofificers  and  gentlemen.  At  the  same 
time,  when  John  Stanburne  imagined  the  charms  of  driving  a 
four-in-hand,  his  fingers  tingled  with  anticipations  of  their 
delight  in  holding  "the  ribbons."  Like  all  men  of  a  perfecdy 
healthy  nature,  he  still  retained  a  great  deal  of  the  boy  (alas 
for  him  whose  boyhood  is  at  an  end  for  ever  !),  and  he  was 


1 80  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

still  capable  of  joyously  anticipating  a  new  pleasure.  The  idea 
of  the  four-in-hand  was  not  new  to  him.  He  had  long  secretly 
aspired  to  its  realization,  but  then  Lady  Helena  (who  had  not 
the  sacred  fire)  was  not  likely  to  see  the  thing  quite  in  the 
same  light.  John  Stanburne  had  never  precisely  consulted 
her  upon  the  subject —  he  had  never  even  gone  so  far  as  to 
say  that  he  should  like  a  four-in-hand  if  he  could  afford  it ; 
but  he  had  expatiated  on  the  delights  of  driving  other  people's 
teams,  and  his  enthusiasm  had  met  with  no  answering  warmth 
in  Helena's  unresponsive  breast.  She  had  known  for  years 
that  her  husband  had  a  hankering  after  a  four-in-hand,  and 
had  discouraged  it  in  her  own  way — namely,  by  steadily 
avoiding  the  least  expression  (even  of  simple  politeness) 
which  might  be  construed  into  approbation.  In  this  negative 
way,  without  once  speaking  openly  about  the  matter,  she  had 
clearly  conveyed  to  the  Colonel's  mind  her  opinion  there- 
upon. The  reader,  no  doubt,  approves  her  ladyship's  wisdom 
and  economy.  But  Lady  Helena  was  not  on  all  points  wise 
and  economical.  Her  qualities  of  this  order  shone  most 
conspicuously  with  reference  to  pleasures  which  she  did  not 
personally  appreciate.  It  is  with  sins  of  extravagance  as 
with  most  other  sins  —  we  compound  for  those  which  we're 
inclined  to  bv  condemning  those  that  we  've  no  mind  to. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  may  most  reasonably  be  argued, 
in  favor  of  her  ladyship  and  other  good  women  who  criticise 
their  husbands'  expenditure  on  this  excellent  old  principle, 
that  if  they  not  only  encouraged  the  outlay  which  procures 
them  the  things  they  like,  but  also  outlay  for  things  they  are 
indifferent  about,  the  general  household  expenditure  would 
be  ruinously  augmented. 

The  Colonel's  manner  of  proceeding  about  the  four-in-hand 
was  characteristic  of  a  husband  in  his  peculiar  position. 
He  knew  by  experience  the  strength  of  \\\Q.fait  accompli.  He 
wrote  privily  to  a  knowing  friend  of  his  who  was  spending 
the  pleasant  month  of  May  amidst  the  joys  of  the   London 


Chap. XXI.         The  Wenderholme  Coach.  iSi 

season,  to  purchase  for  him  at  once  the  commodious  vehicle 
destined  to  become  afterwards  famous  as  the  Wenderholme 
coach.  He  wrote  for  it  on  that  Monday  evening  when  Alice 
Stedman  returned  from  her  interrupted  visit  to  Whittlecup  ; 
and  as  it  was  sent  down  on  a  truck  attached  to  a  passenger 
train,  it  arrived  at  the  Sootythorn  station  within  forty-eight 
hours  of  the  writing  of  the  letter,  and  was  brought  to  the 
Thorn  Inn  by  two  of  Mr.  Garley's  hacks.  The  officers 
turned  out  to  look  at  it  after  mess,  and  as  it  was  known  to 
have  been  selected  by  a  man  of  high  repute  in  the  sporting 
world,  its  merits  were  unanimously  allowed.  There  was  a 
complete  set  of  silver-mounted  harness  for  four  horses  in  the 
boot,  carefully  wrapped  up  in  three  sorts  of  paper  ;  and  Lon- 
don celerity  had  even  found  time  to  emblazon  the  Stanburne 
arms  on  the  panels.  It  is  true  that  they  were  exceedingly 
simple,  like  the  arms  of  most  old  families,  and  the  painter 
had  omitted  to  impale  them  with  the  bearings  of  her  lady- 
ship —  an  accident  which  might  also  be  considered  ominous 
under  the  circumstances,  since  it  seemed  to  imply  that  in  this 
extravagance  of  the  Colonel's  his  wife  had  no  part  nor  lot. 

As  the  mess  was  just  over  when  the  coach  entered  Mr. 
Garley's  yard,  the  Colonel,  with  the  boyish  impulsiveness 
which  he  did  not  attempt  to  conceal,  said,  "  Let 's  have  a 
drive  in  the  Wenderholme  coach!  Where  shall  we  go  to? 
Let 's  go  and  look  up  Lieutenant  Ogden  at  Whittlecup,  and 
see  what  he  's  doing  !  "  So  the  two  tandem  horses  and  two 
of  Mr.  Garley's  hacks  were  clothed  in  the  splendors  of  the 
new  harness,  and  attached  to  the  great  vehicle,  whilst  a  dozen 
officers  mounted  to  the  lofty  outside  places.  They  wore  the 
mess  costume  (red  shell-jacket,  &c.),  and  looked  something 
like  a  lot  of  scarlet  geraniums  on  the  top  of  a  horticul- 
turist's van. 

Just  as  they  were  starting,  and  as  the  Colonel  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  his  reins  properly,  a  youthful  lieutenant  who  pos- 
sessed a  cornet-k-piston,  and  had  privily  carried  it  with  him 


1 82  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

as  he  climbed  to  his  place  behind,  filled  the  streets  of  Sooty- 
thorn  with  triumphant  trumpet-notes.  The  sound  caused 
many  of  the  inhabitants  to  come  to  their  windows,  and 
amongst  others  Miss  Mellor  and  her  friend,  Mrs.  Ogden,  who 
had  been  drinking  tea  with  her  that  evening.  "  Why,"  said 
Miss  Mellor,  "  it 's  a  new  coach  !  "  "  And  it's  boun'  to  'rd 
Whittlecup,  I  declare,"  added  Mrs.  Ogden.  She  had  already 
put  her  things  on,  intending  to  walk  back  to  Whittlecup  with 
little  Jacob  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  for  it  was  quite  con- 
trary to  Mrs.  Ogden's  character  (at  once  courageous  and 
economical)  to  hire  a  fly  for  so  short  a  distance  as  four  miles. 
But  when  she  saw  the  coach,  it  occurred  to  her  that  here  was 
a  golden  mean  betwixt  the  extravagance  of  fly-hiring  and  the 
fatigues  of  pedestrianism  ;  so  she  clapped  little  Jacob's  cap 
on  his  head  (in  a  manner  unsatisfactory  to  that  young  gentle- 
man, for  nobody  can  put  a  boy's  cap  on  to  suit  him  except 
himself),  and  dragged  him  out  at  the  front  door,  hardly  taking 
time  to  say  good  night  to  the  worthy  lady  by  whom  she  had 
just  been  so  hospitably  entertained. 

When  the  Colonel  saw  Mrs.  Ogden  making  signs  with  her 
parasol,  he  recognized  her  at  once,  and  good-naturedly  drew 
up  his  horses  that  she  might  get  inside.  Fyser  got  down  to 
open  the  door,  and  the  following  conversation,  which  was 
clearly  overheard  by  several  of  the  officers,  and  partially  by 
the  Colonel  himself,  took  place  between  Fyser  and  Mrs. 
Ogden. 

"  Is  this  Whittlecup  coach  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mum." 

"Is  there  room  inside  for  me  and  this  'ere  little  lad  ?  " 

"  Plenty  of  room,  mum.  Step  in,  please ;  the  horses  is 
waitin'." 

"  Stop  a  bit.     What's  the  fare  as  far  as  Whittlecup  ?  " 

"  One  shilling,  mum,"  said  Fyser,  who  ventured  thus  far, 
from  his  knowledge  of  the  Colonel's  indulgent  disposition 
when  a  joke  was  in  the  wind. 


Chap.  XXI.        The  Wenderholnte  Coach.  183 

"The  childt '11  be  half-price?"  said  Mrs.  Ogden,  mixing 
the  affirmative  with  the  interrogative. 

"  Very  well,  mum,"  said  Fyser,  and  shut  the  door  on  Mrs. 
Ogden  and  little  Jacob. 

The  Colonel,  since  the  box-seat  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  vehicle,  had  not  heard  the  whole  of  this  colloquy  ;  and 
when  it  was  reported  to  him  amidst  roars  of  laughter,  he 
looked  rather  graver  than  was  expected.  "  It 's  a  good  joke, 
gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  but  there  is  one  little  matter  I  must 
explain  to  you.  Our  inside  passenger  is  the  mother  of  one 
of  our  brother  officers.  Lieutenant  Ogden,  who  is  command- 
ing number  six  company  at  VVhittlecup,  and  the  little  boy  with 
her  is  his  son  ;  so  please  be  very  careful  never  to  allude  to 
this  little  incident  in  his  presence,  you  understand." 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Ogden  found  the  Whittlecup  coach  com- 
fortable in  a  supreme  degree.  "  They  've  rare  good  coaches 
about  Sootythorn,"  she  said  to  little  Jacob ;  "  this  is  as  soft 
as  soft  —  it 's  same  as  sittin'  on  a  feather-bedd."  A  few 
minutes  later  she  continued :  "  Th'  outside  passengers  is 
mostly  soldiers  *  by  what  I  can  see.  They  're  'appen  some 
o'  your  father's  men  as  are  boun'  back  to  VVhittlecup." 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  the  Colonel  drew  up  in  the  mar- 
ket-place at  Whittlecup,  at  the  sign  of  the  Blue  Bell.  He 
handed  the  reins  to  his  neighbor  on  the  box,  and  descended 
with  great  alacrity.  Fyser  had  just  opened  the  door  when 
the  Colonel  arrived  in  time  to  help  Mrs.  Ogden  politely  as 
she  got  out 

"  It 's  eighteenpence,"  she  said,  and  handed  him  the 
money.  The  Colonel  had  thrown  his  gray  cloak  over  his 
shell-jacket,  and,  to  a  person  with  Mrs.  Ogden's  habits  of 
observation,   or   non-observation,    looked   sufficiently  like   a 

*  The  reader  who  cares  to  attain  the  perfection  of  Mrs.  Ogden's 
pronunciation  will  please  to  bear  in  mind  that  she  pronounced  the  d  well 
in  "soldiers"  (thus,  sol-di-ers),  and  did  not  replace  it  with  a  g,  accord- 
ing to  the  barbarous  usage  of  the  polite  world. 


184  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

coachman.  He  thought  it  best  to  take  the  money,  to  prevent 
an  explanation  in  the  presence  of  so  many  witnesses.  So  he 
politely  touched  his  cap,  and  thanked  her.  It  being  already 
dusk,  she  did  not  recognize  him.  Suddenly  the  love  of  a 
joke  prevailed  over  other  considerations,  and  the  Colonel, 
imitating  the  cabman's  gesture,  contemplated  the  three  six- 
pences in  his  open  hand  by  the  light  of  the  lamp,  and  said, 
"  Is  there  nothing  for  the  coachman,  mum  ?  "  The  lamplight 
fell  upon  his  features^  and  Mrs.  Ogden  recognized  him  at 
once  ;  so  did  little  Jacob.  Her  way  of  taking  the  discovery 
marked  her  characteristic  self-possession.  She  blundered 
into  no  apologies  ;  but,  fixing  her  stony  gray  eyes  full  on  the 
Colonel's  face,  she  said,  "  I  think  you  want  no  sixpences ; 
Stanburnes  o'  Wendrum  Hall  doesn't  use  wantin'  sixpences. 
Give  me  my  eighteenpence  back."  Then,  suddenly  changing 
her  resolution,  she  said,  "  Nay,  I  willn't  have  them  three  six- 
pences back  again  ;  it 's  worth  eighteenpence  to  be  able  to  tell 
folk  that  Colonel  Stanburne  of  Wenderholme  Hall  took  money 
for  lettin'  an  old  lady  ride  in  his  carriage."  She  said  this 
with  real  dignity,  and  taking  little  Jacob  by  the  hand,  moved 
off  with  a  steady  step  towards  her  lodging  over  the  shoe- 
maker's shop. 


CiiAP.  XXII.   Colonel  Sianburne  apologizes.  1 85 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

COLONEL   STANBURNE   APOLOGIZES. 

THE  next  day  Lieutenant  Ogden  appeared  not  on  the 
parade-ground  at  Sootythorn.  Captain  Stanburne 
commanded  his  own  company  for  the  first  time  since  his  ac- 
cident (his  cure  having  been  wonderfully  advanced  by  the 
departure  of  Miss  Stedman  from  Arkwright  Lodge)  ;  and 
during  one  of  the  short  intervals  of  repose  which  break  the 
tedium  of  drill,  he  went  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  Colonel, 
who  was  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  Adjutant  on  a  bit 
of  elevated  ground,  whilst  Fyser  promenaded  his  war-horse 
to  and  fro. 

Colonel  Stanburne,  who  was  ignorant  of  the  cause  to  which 
he  owed  the  rapid  recovery  of  his  young  friend,  heartily  con- 
gratulated him,  and  then  said,  "  But  where  is  Ogden  ?  what 's 
Ogden  doing  ?  Why  didn't  he  come  to  the  parade-ground  to 
join  the  grenadier  company  again  ?  Is  he  taking  a  day's  holi- 
day with  those  pretty  girls  at  Arkwright  Lodge  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Ogden  begs  to  be  excused  from  attending  drill  to-day. 
I  have  a  note  from  him."  And  Captain  Stanburne  handed 
the  letter  to  the  Colonel. 

As  soon  as  John  Stanburne  had  read  the  letter  he  looked 
very  grave,  or  rather  very  much  put  out,  and  made  an  ejacu- 
lation. The  ejaculation  was  "  Damn  it !  "  Then  he  folded 
the  letter  again,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket-book. 

"Have  you  had  any  conversation  with  Mr.  Ogden  on  the 
subject  of  this  letter  ? "  Captain  Stanburne  knew  nothing 
about  it. 


1 86  Wenderliolme.  Part  i 

The  Colonel  made  a  signal  for  Fyser,  and  mounted  his 
horse.  Fvser  mounted  another,  and  followed  his  master.  The 
senior  Major  was  telling  humorous  anecdotes  to  a  group  of 
captains,  and  the  Colonel  went  straight  to  him  at  a  canter. 
He  told  him  to  command  the  regiment  in  his  absence,  enter- 
ing into  some  details  about  what  was  to  be  done  —  details 
which  puzzled  the  Major  exceedingly,  for  he  knew  nothing 
whatever  about  battalion  drill,  or  any  drill,  though  in  some 
former  state  of  existence  he  had  been  an  ornamental  officer  in 
the  Guards.     This  done,  the  Colonel  galloped  off  the  field. 

The  letter  which  had  caused  this  sudden  departure  was  as 
follows :  — 

"Sir, —  As  you  have  thought  fit  to  play  a  practical  joke 
upon  my  mother,  I  send  in  my  resignation. 

"Your  obedient  servant,  Isaac  Ogden." 

There  was  no  hesitation  about  the  Colonel's  movements ; 
he  rode  straight  to  Whittlecup  as  fast  as  his  horse  could  carry 
him.  He  went  first  to  the  Blue  Bell,  where  he  found  a  guide 
to  Mrs.  Ogden's  lodging  over  the  shoemaker's  shop.  In 
answer  to  his  inquiries,  the  shoemaker's  wife  admitted  that 
all  her  lodgers  were  at  home,  but  —  but  —  in  short,  they  were 
"  getting  their  breakfast."  The  Colonel  said  his  business  was 
urgent  —  that  he  must  see  the  Lieutenant,  and  Mrs.  Ogden 
too  —  so  Mrs.  Wood  guided  him  up  the  narrow  stairs. 

We  may  confess  for  John  Stanburne  that  he  had  not  much  of 
that  courage  which  rejoices  in  verbal  encounters,  or  if  he  had, 
it  was  of  that  kind  which  dares  to  do  what  the  man  is  consti- 
tutionally most  afraid  to  do.  The  reader  may  remember  an 
anecdote  of  another  English  officer,  who,  as  he  went  into 
battle,  betrayed  the  external  signs  of  fear,  and  in  reply  to  a 
young  subaltern,  who  had  the  impudence  to  taunt  him,  said, 
"  Yes,  I  am  afraid,  and  if  you  were  as  much  afraid  as  I  am, 
you  would  run  away."  Yet,  by  the  strength  of  his  will,  he  con- 
ducted himself  like  a  true  soldier.     And  there  is  that  other 


Chai.  XXII.     Colonel  Stanbiirne  apologizes.  187 

stirring  anecdote  about  a  French  commander,  who,  when  his 
body  trembled  at  the  opening  of  a  battle,  thus  apostrophized 
it :  "  Tu  trembles,  vile  carcasse !  tu  tremblerais  bien  plus  si  tu 
savais  ou  je  vais  te  mener ! "  If  these  men  were  cowards, 
John  Stanburne  was  a  coward  too,  for  he  mortally  dreaded 
this  encounter  with  the  Ogdens ;  but  if  they  were  not  cowards 
(having  will  enough  to  neutralize  that  defect  of  nature), 
neither  was  John  Stanburne. 

Lieutenant  Ogden  rose  from  his  seat,  and  bowed  rather 
stiffly  as  the  Colonel  entered,  Mrs.  Ogden  made  a  just  per- 
ceptible inclination  of  the  head,  and  conveyed  to  her  mouth 
a  spoonful  of  boiled  egg,  which  she  had  just  dipped  in  the 
salt. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  Colonel,  "for  intruding  upon  you 
during  breakfast  time,  but  —  but  I  was  anxious "  —  The 
moment  of  hesitation  which  followed  was  at  once  taken  ad- 
vantage of  by  Mrs.  Ogden. 

"  And  is  that  all  you  've  come  to  beg  pardon  for  ?  " 

This  thrust  put  the  Colonel  more  on  his  defence  than  a 
pleasanter  reception  would  have  done.  He  had  intended  to 
offer  nothing  but  a  very  polite  apology  ;  but  as  there  seemed 
to  be  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  enemy  to  extort  conces- 
sions so  as  to  deprive  them  of  the  grace  of  being  voluntary,  he 
withdrew  into  his  own  retrenchments. 

"  I  came  to  ask  Mr.  Ogden  for  an  explanation  about  his 
letter  of  this  morning." 

"I  should  think  you  need  no  explanations,  Colonel  Stan- 
burne.    You  know  what  passed  yesterday  evening." 

"  He  knows  that  well  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden. 

"  I  should  be  glad  if  Lieutenant  Ogden  would  tell  me  in 
detail  what  he  thinks  that  he  has  to  complain  of." 

"  Leaftenant !  Leaftenant !  nay,  there  's  no  more  leaftenan- 
tin',  I  reckon.  This  is  Isaac  Ogden — plain  Isaac  Ogden  — 
an'  nout  elz.  He's  given  up  playin'  at  soldiers.  He's  a 
cotton-spinner,  or  he  were  one,  nobbut  his  brother  an'  him 


1 88  Wertder holme.  part  i. 

quarrelled  ;  and  I  wish  they  hadn't  done,  many  a  time  I  do  — ■ 
for  our  Jacob  's  as  much  as  ever  he  can  manage,  now  as  he 's 
buildin'  a  new  mill;  an'  if  he  gets  wed  —  and  there's  Hiram 
Ratcliff's  dorther " —  Mrs.  Ogden  might  have  gone  very 
far  into  family  matters  if  her  son  had  not  perceived  (or  im- 
agined that  he  perceived)  something  like  a  smile  on  Colonel 
Stanburne's  face.  In  point  of  fact,  the  Colonel  did  not  pre- 
cisely smile  ;  but  there  was  a  general  relaxation  of  the  muscles 
of  his  physiognomy  from  their  first  expression  of  severity, 
betraying  an  inward  tendency  to  humor. 

"  Well,  sir,"  broke  in  Ogden,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  you  did,  if 
you  want  me.  It  seems  that  you  've  set  up  a  new  carriage,  a 
four-in-hand,  which  looks  very  like  a  mail  coach,  and  you  drove 
this  vehicle  yesterday  through  the  streets  of  Sootythorn,  and 
you  saw  my  mother  on  the  footpath,  and  you  made  a  signal  to 
her  with  your  whip,  as  coachmen  do,  and  you  allowed  her  to 
get  inside  under  the  impression  that  it  was  a  public  convey- 
ance, so  that  you  might  make  a  laughing-stock  of  her  with  the 
officers.     And  "  — 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  it  was  not "  — 

"You've  asked  me  to  tell  you  why  I  sent  in  my  resignation, 
and  I  'm  telling  you.  If  you  stop  me,  I  shalln't  begin  it  over 
again.  Let  me  say  my  say,  Colonel  Stanburne  ;  you  may  ex- 
plain it  away  afterwards  at  your  leisure,  if  you  can.  When 
you  got  into  Whittlecup,  and  stopped  at  the  Blue  Bell,  you 
took  my  mother's  money  —  and  not  only  that,  but  you  asked 
for  a  gratuity  for  yourself,  as  driver,  to  make  her  ridiculous  in 
the  eyes  of  your  friends  on  the  vehicle.  I  suppose,  though 
your  joke  may  have  been  a  very  good  one,  that  you  will  be 
able  to  understand  why  it  is  not  very  pleasing  to  me,  and  why 
I  don't  choose  to  remain  under  you  in  the  militia." 

"  If  the  thing  had  occurred  as  you  have  told  it "  —  the 
Colonel  began,  but  was  instantly  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Ogden. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  I  didn't  tell  him  right  what  hap- 
pened }    If  anybody  knows  what  happened,  I  do." 


Chap.  XXII.     Colonel  Stanbume  apologizes.  189 

"  Let  the  Colonel  say  what  he  has  to  say,  mother  ;  don't 
you  stop  him.     I  've  said  my  say,  and  it's  his  turn  now." 

The  Colonel  told  the  facts  as  the  reader  knows  them.  "  He 
had  made  no  sign  to  Mrs.  Ogden,"  he  said,  "  in  the  street  at 
Sootythorn,  but  she  had  made  a  sign  with  her  parasol,  which 
he  had  interpreted  as  a  request  for  a  place.  He  had  been 
ignorant  that  Fyser  had  kept  up  her  illusion  about  the  vehicle 
being  a  public  one  until  after  the  fact ;  and  so  far  from  en- 
couraging the  merriment  of  the  officers,  had  put  a  stop  to  it  by 
telling  them  who  Mrs.  Ogden  was,  particularly  requesting  that 
the  incident  might  not  be  made  a  subject  of  pleasantry,  lest 
it  should  reach  Mr.  Ogden 's  ears.  On  arriving  in  Whittlecup, 
he  had  taken  her  money,  but  with  the  express  purpose  of 
saving  her  the  pain  of  an  explanation.  He  had  intended 
Mrs.  Ogden  to  remain  ignorant  —  happily  ignorant  —  of  her 
little  mistake." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Isaac  Ogden  ;  "  this  might  have  been 
equally  well  accomplished  without  asking  my  mother  for 
a  coachman's  gratuity.  That  was  done  to  make  a  fool  of 
her,  evidently ;  and  no  doubt  you  laughed  about  it  with  your 
friends  as  you  drove  back  to  Sootythorn." 

"  Here  is  the  only  point  on  which  I  feel  that  I  owe  an 
apology  to  Mrs.  Ogden,  and  I  very  willingly  make  it.  In 
every  thing  else  I  did  what  lay  in  my  power  to  save  her  from 
ridicule,  but  on  this  point  I  confess  that  I  did  wrong.  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  was  carried  away  by  a  foolish  fancy  for 
acting  the  coachman  out  and  out.  The  temptation  was  too 
strong  for  me,  you  know.  I  thought  I  had  taken  the  money 
cleverly,  in  the  proper  professional  manner,  and  I  was  tempted 
to  ask  for  a  gratuity.  I  acknowledge  that  I  went  too  far. 
Mrs.  Ogden,  I  am  very  sorry  for  this." 

Mrs.  Ogden  had  been  gradually  softening  during  the 
Colonel's  explanation,  and  when  it  came  to  its  close  she 
turned  to  him  and  said,  "  We  've  been  rather  too  hard  upon 
you,  I  think."     Such  an  expression  as  this  from  Mrs.  Ogden 


igo  We7iderhobne.  Pari-  i. 

was  equivalent  to  a  profuse  apology.  The  Lieutenant  added 
a  conciliatory  little  speech  of  his  own :  "  I  think  my  mother 
may  accept  your  explanation.  I  am  willing  to  accept  it  my- 
self." This  was  not  very  cordial,  but  at  any  rate  it  was  an 
expression  of  satisfaction. 

Little  Jacob  had  hitherto  been  a  silent  and  unobserved 
auditor  of  this  conversation,  but  it  now  occurred  to  the 
Colonel  that  he  might  be  of  considerable  use.  "  Mrs.  Og- 
den,"  he  said,  "  will  you  allow  me  to  transfer  your  eighteen- 
pence  to  this  young  gentleman's  pocket  ? "  Mrs.  Ogden 
consented,  and  it  will  be  believed  that  little  Jacob  on  his 
part  had  no  objection.  Then  the  Colonel  drew  little  Jacob 
towards  him,  and  began  to  ask  him  questions  —  "What  would 
he  like  to  be  ? "  Little  Jacob  said  he  would  like  to  be  a 
coachman,  as  the  Colonel  was,  and  drive  four  horses.  The 
Colonel  promised  him  a  long  drive  on  the  coach. 

"  And  may  I  drive  the  horses  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  about  that.  Yes,  you  shall  drive  them 
a  little  some  day."  Then  turning  towards  Mrs.  Ogden,  he 
continued,  — 

"  Lady  Helena  is  not  at  Wenderholme  just  now,  unfortu- 
nately ;  she  is  gone  to  town  to  her  father's  for  a  few  days,  so 
that  I  am  a  bachelor  at  present,  and  cannot  invite  ladies  ; 
but  if  it  would  please  little  Jacob  to  ride  on  the  coach  with 
me,  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  would  let  him.  I  am  going 
to  drive  to  Wenderholme  this  evening  as  soon  as  our  after- 
noon drill  is  finished,  and  shall  return  to-morrow  morning. 
About  half-a-dozen  officers  are  going  to  dine  with  me.  Og- 
den, you  '11  dine  with  me  too,  won't  you  ?  Do  —  there  's  a 
good  fellow  ;  and  pray  let  us  forget  this  unlucky  bit  of  un- 
pleasantness.    Don't  come  full  fig  —  come  in  a  shell-jacket." 

"Well,  but  you  know,  Colonel  Stanburne,  I've  resigned 
my  commission,  and  so  how  can  I  come  in  a  red  jacket  ? " 

This  was  said  with  an  agreeable  expression  of  countenance, 
intended  to  imply  that  the  resignation  was  no  longer  to  be 


Chap.  XXII.    Colouel  Stanbume  apologizes.  191 

taken  seriously.  The  Colonel  laughed.  "  Nonsense,"  he 
said;  "you  don't  talk  about  resigning?  It  isn't  a  time  for 
resigning  when  there  's  such  a  capital  chance  of  promotion. 
Most  likely  you  '11  be  a  captain  next  training,  for  there  's  a 
certain  old  major  who  finds  battalion  drill  a  mystery  beyond 
the  utmost  range  of  his  intellect,  and  I  don't  think  he  '11 
stop  very  long  with  us,  and  when  he  leaves  us  there  '11  be  a 
general  rise,  and  the  senior  lieutenant,  you  know,  will  be  a 
captain." 

Mrs.  Ogden's  countenance  began  to  shine  with  pride  at 
these  hints  of  promotion.  After  all,  he  would  be  somebody 
at  Shayton,  would  Captain  Ogden,  for  she  was  fully  deter- 
mined that  when  once  he  should  be  in  possession  of  the 
title,  it  should  not  perish  for  want  of  use. 

When  the  Colonel  rose  to  take  his  leave,  Mrs.  Ogden 
said,  "  Nay,  nay,  you  shalln't  go  away  without  drinking  a 
glass  of  wine.  There 's  both  port  and  sherry  in  the  cup- 
board ;  and  if  you'd  like  something  to  eat — you  must  be 
quite  hungry  after  your  ride.  Why,  you  've  'appen  never 
got  your  breakfast  ? " 

The  Colonel  confessed  that  he  had  not  breakfasted.  He 
had  come  away  from  early  drill  just  before  his  usual  break- 
fast-hour. 

"  Eh,  well,  I  wish  I  'd  known  sooner ;  indeed  I  do.  The 
coffee  's  quite  cold,  and  there  's  nothing  worse  than  cold  cof- 
fee ;  but  Mr.  Wood  '11  very  soon  make  some  fresh."  Colonel 
Stanburne  was  really  hungry,  and  ate  his  breakfast  in  a 
manner  which  gave  the  greatest  satisfaction  to  Mrs.  Ogden. 
The  more  he  ate  the  more  he  rose  in  her  esteem,  and  at 
length  she  could  no  longer  restrain  her  feelings  of  approval, 
and  said,  "  You  can  eat  your  breakfast ;  it  does  me  good  to 
watch  ye.  There  's  many  a  young  man  as  cannot  eat  half 
as  much  as  you  do.  There 's  our  Isaac  here  that 's  only 
a  very  poor  breakfast-eater.  I  tell  him  so  many  a  time." 
Indeed  she  did  tell   him   so   many  a  time  —  namely,  about 


192  Wenderholme.  Tart  i. 

fifteen  times  whenever  they  breakfasted  together.  When  the 
Colonel  had  done  eating,  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  said  it 
was  time  to  go.  "  Well,  I  'm  very  sorry  you  're  goin'  so  soon 
—  indeed  I  am,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden,  who,  when  he  ceased  to 
eat,  felt  that  her  own  pleasure  was  at  an  end.  But  you  must 
drink  a  glass  of  wine.  It  isn't  bought  at  the  Blue  Bell  at 
Whittlecup  —  it  comes  from  Shayton."  She  said  this  with 
a  calm  assurance  that  it  setded  the  question  of  the  wine's 
merits,  just  as  if  Shayton  had  been  the  centre  of  a  famous 
wine-district.  Returning  to  the  subject  of  breakfast-eating, 
she  repeated,  "  Eh,  I  do  wish  our  Isaac  could  eat  his  break- 
fast same  as  you  do,  but  he  's  spoiled  his  stomach  wi'  drink- 
ing." Then  addressing  her  son  :  "  Isaac,  I  put  two  glasses 
with  the  decanter  —  why  don't  you  fill  your  glass?" 

"  I  've  given  up  drinking." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  as  you  're  teetotal  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  mother  ;  I  'm  teetotal  now." 

Mrs.  Ogden's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  extreme  as- 
tonishment and  displeasure.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  Isaac  Og- 
den, you  're  the  first  teetotal  as  has  been  in  our  family  !  " 
and  she  looked  at  him  in  scorn.  Then  she  resumed  :  "  If 
I  'd  known  what  was  to  come  of  your  meeting  that  teetotal 
clergyman  — for  it 's  him  that 's  done  it  —  I  'd  have  prevented 
it  if  I  could.  Turned  teetotal !  turned  teetotal !  Well,  Isaac, 
I  never  could  have  believed  this  of  any  son  of  mine  1 " 


Chap.  XXIII.         Husb and  and  Wife,  193 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

HUSBAND     AND     WIFE. 

WHEN  Lady  Helena  came  back  from  London,  she  found 
the  Wenderholme  coach  aheady  in  full  activity.  It 
ran  from  Sootythorn  to  Wenderholme  twice  a  week  regularly 
with  many  passengers,  who,  so  far  from  contributing  to  its 
maintenance,  did  but  yet  further  exhaust  the  pocket  of  its 
proprietor.  It  happened  precisely  that  on  the  day  of  her 
ladyship's  return  the  Colonel  had  one  of  his  frequent  dinner- 
parties at  the  Hall  —  parties  composed  almost  exclusively  of 
militia  officers,  and  already  known  in  the  regiment  as  the 
"  Wenderholme  mess."  The  Colonel  had  thought  it  prudent 
to  prepare  Lady  Helena  for  his  new  acquisition  by  mention- 
ing it  in  a  letter,  so  that  she  experienced  no  shock  of  sur- 
prise when  the  four-in-hand  came  swinging  heavily  round  the 
drive  in  front  of  the  house,  announcing  itself  with  loud  blasts 
from  Ensign  Featherby's  cornet-k-piston.  They  had  such 
numbers  of  spare  bed-rooms  at  Wenderholme  that  these  hos- 
pitalities caused  no  perceptible  inconvenience,  except  that  of 
getting  up  very  early  the  next  morning,  which  chiefly  affected 
the  guests  themselves,  who  had  to  be  in  time  for  early  drill. 
On  this  point  the  Colonel  was  inexorable,  so  that  the  Wen- 
derholme mess  was  much  more  popular  on  Saturday  than  on 
Thursday  evening,  as  the  officers  stayed  at  Wenderholme  till 
after  luncheon,  going  to  the  village  church  in  the  morning 
with  the  people  at  the  Hall,  and  returning  to  Sootythorn  in 
the  course  of  the  afternoon,  so  as  to  be  in  time  for  mess.  It 
happened  that  the  day  of  Lady  Helena's  return  was  a  Satur? 


194  Wenderhohne.  Part  i. 

day,  and  the  Colonel  thought,  "  She  said  nothing  about  the 
coach  to-night,  but  I  'm  in  for  it  to-morrow  morning."  How- 
ever, when  Sunday  morning  came,  beautiful  with  full  spring 
sunshine,  her  ladyship's  countenance  appeared  equally  cloud- 
less. Encouraged  by  these  favorable  appearances,  John 
Stanburne  observed,  a  little  before  church-time,  — 

"  I  say,  Helena,  you  haven't  seen  the  Wenderholme  coach. 
Come  and  look  at  it ;  do  come,  Helena  —  that 's  a  good  gell 
It 's  in  the  coach-house." 

But  her  ladyship  replied  that  she  had  seen  the  coach  the 
evening  before  from  the  drawing-room  window,  when  it  ar- 
rived from  Sootythorn. 

"Well,  but  you  can't  have  seen  it  properly,  you  know. 
You  can't  have  looked  inside  it.  Come  and  look  inside  it, 
and  see  what  comfortable  accommodation  we  've  got  for  in- 
side passengers.  Inside  passengers  don't  often  present  them- 
selves, though,  and  yet  there 's  no  difference  in  the  fare. 
You'll  be  an  inside  passenger  yourself — won't  you,  now, 
Helena?" 

Her  ladyship  was  clearly  aware  that  this  coaxing  was  in 
tended  to  extract  from  her  an  official  recognition  of  the  new 
institution,  and  she  was  resolutely  determined  to  withhold  it. 
So  she  looked  at  her  watch,  and  observed  that  it  was  nearly 
church-time,  and  that  she  must  go  at  once  and  put  her  things  on. 

As  they  walked  to  church,  she  said  to  one  of  the  officers, 
"  We  always  walk  to  church  from  the  Hall,  even  in  rainy 
weather." 

"  Helena's  a  capital  walker,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  It  is  fortunate  for  ladies  to  be  good  walkers,"  replied  her 
ladyship,  "  when  they  have  no  carriage-horses." 

Here' was  a  stab  ;  and  the  worst  of  it  was,  that  it  might 
clearly  be  proved  to  be  deserved.  The  Colonel  had  suggested 
in  his  letter  to  Lady  Helena  that  she  would  do  well  to  come 
by  way  of  Manchester  to  Sootythorn,  instead  of  going  by 
Bradford  to  a  little  country  station  ten  miles  on  the  Yorkshire 


Chap.  XXIII.         Husband  and  Wife.  1 95 

side  of  Wenderholme.  Her  ladyship  had  not  replied  to  this 
communication,  but  had  written  the  day  before  her  return  to 
the  housekeeper  at  Wenderholme,  ordering  her  carriage,  as 
usual,  to  the  Yorkshire  station.  The  carriage  had  not  come  ; 
the  housekeeper  had  only  been  able  to  send  the  pony  car- 
riage, a  tiny  basket  that  Lady  Helena  drove  herself,  with 
seats  for  two  persons,  no  place  for  luggage,  and  a  black  pony 
a  little  bigger  than  a  Newfoundland  dog.  Lady  Helena  had 
driven  herself  from  the  station  ;  there  had  been  a  smart 
shower,  and,  notwithstanding  a  thin  gray  cloak,  which  was 
supposed  to  be  waterproof,  she  had  been  wet  through.  The 
Colonel  had  taken  possession  of  all  the  carriage-horses  for 
his  four-in-hand,  and  they  were  at  Sootythorn.  Her  ladyship 
would  continue  to  be  equally  carriageless,  since  the  Colonel 
would  take  his  whole  team  back  with  him,  unless  he  sent 
back  the  horses  from  Sootythorn  on  the  day  following.  These 
things  occupied  John  Stanburne's  mind  when  he  should  have 
been  attending  to  the  service.  They  had  always  kept  four 
carriage-horses  since  their  marriage,  but  never  more  than 
four  ;  and  though  one  of  the  two  pairs  had  been  often  kept 
at  Sootythorn,  when  circumstances  required  them  to  go  there 
frequently,  still  her  ladyship  had  never  been  left  carriageless 
without  being  previously  consulted  upon  the  subject,  and  then 
only  for  twenty-four  hours  at  the  longest.  The  idea  of  setting 
up  a  four-in-hand  with  only  two  pairs  of  horses,  one  of  which 
was  in  almost  daily  requisition  for  a  lady's  carriage,  would 
indeed  have  been  ridiculous  if  John  Stanburne  had  quite 
seriously  entertained  it ;  but,  though  admitting  vaguely  the 
probable  necessity  of  an  fncrease,  he  had  not  yet  recognized 
that  necessity  in  a  clear  and  definite  way.  It  came  to  his 
mind,  however,  on  that  Sunday  morning  with  much  distinct- 
ness. "  Well,  hang  it !  "  he  thought,  as  he  settled  down  in 
his  corner  at  the  beginning  of  the  sermon,  "  1  have  as  much 
right  to  spend  my  own  money  as  Helena  has.  Every  journey 
she  makes  to  town  costs  more  than  a  horse.     I  spend  nothing 


196  Wenderholme.  Part  I. 

on  myself  —  really  nothing  whatever.  Look  at  my  tailor's 
bill  !  I  positively  haven't  any  tailor's  bill.  Helena  spends 
more  on  dress  in  a  month  than  I  do  in  a  year.  And  then  her 
jeweller's  bill !  She  spends  hundreds  of  pounds  on  jewellery, 
and  I  never  spend  one  penny.  Every  time  she  goes  to  a 
Drawing-room  she  has  all  her  old  jewels  pulled  to  pieces  and 
set  afresh,  and  it  costs  nobody  knows  what  —  it  does.  I  '11 
have  my  four-in-hand  properly  horsed  with  horses  of  my  own, 
by  George  !  and  none  of  those  confounded  Sootythorn  hacks 
any  more  ;  and  Helena  shall  keep  her  carriage-horses  all  to 
herself,  and  drive  about  all  day  long  if  she  likes.  Of  course 
I  can't  take  her  carriage-horses  —  she  's  right  there." 

On  her  own  part,  her  ladyship  was  steadily  resolved  not 
to  be  deprived  of  any  of  those  belongings  which  naturally 
appertained  to  a  person  of  her  rank  and  consideration  ;  and 
there  had  existed  in  her  mind  for  several  years  a  feeling  of 
jealous  watchfulness,  which  scrutinized  at  the  same  time 
John  Stanburne's  projects  of  economy  and  his  projects  of 
expense.  It  had  happened  several  times  within  the  experi- 
ence of  this  couple  that  the  husband  had  taken  little  fits  of 
parsimony,  during  which  he  attacked  the  expenditure  he 
least  cared  for,  but  which,  by  an  unfortunate  fatality,  always 
seemed  to  his  wife  to  be  most  reasonable  and  necessary. 
It  might  perhaps  have  been  more  favorable  to  his  tranquillity 
to  ally  himself  with  some  country  girl  acclimatized  to  the 
dulness  of  a  thoroughly  provincial  existence,  and  satisfied 
with  the  position  of  mistress  of  Wenderholme  Hall,  who 
would  have  let  him  spend  his  money  in  his  own  way,  and 
would  never  have  dragged  him  beyond  the  circle  of  his 
tastes  and  inclinations.  He  hated  London,  especially  dur- 
ing the  season  ;  and  though  he  enjoyed  the  society  of  people 
whom  he  really  knew  something  about,  he  disliked  being  in 
a  crowd.  Lady  Helena,  on  the  other  hand,  was  fond  of 
society,  and  even  of  the  spectacle  of  the  court.  John  Stan- 
burne  had   regularly  accompanied  his  wife  on  these  annual 


Chap.  XXIII.  Husbaud  a7td  Wife.  197 

visits  to   the  metropolis   until   this   year,   when  the   militia 
afforded  an  excellent  pretext  for  staying  in  the  country;  but 
every  year  he  had  given  evidence  of  an  increasing  disposition 
to  evade  the  performance  of  his  duties ;  and  it  had  come  to 
this  at  last,  that  Lady  Helena  was  obliged  to  go  about  with 
the   Adisham   family,   since    John    Stanburne    could    not    be 
made  to  go  to  parties  any  more.     He  grumbled,  too,  a  good 
deal  about  the  costliness  of  these  London  expeditions,  and 
sometimes   talked    of   suppressing   them    altogether.     There 
was  another  annual  expedition  that  he  disliked  very  much, 
namely,  a  winter  expedition  to  Brighton  ;  and  it  had  come  to 
pass  that  a  coolness  had  sprung  up  between  John  Stanburne 
and  the  Adisham  family  (who  went  to  Brighton  every  year), 
because  his  indisposition  to  meet  them  there  had  been  some- 
what too  openly  manifested.    His  old  mother  was  the  confidant 
of  these  rebellious  sentiments.     She  lived  in  a  picturesque 
cottage  situated  in  Wenderholme   Park,  which   served   as  a 
residence  for  dowagers.     She  came   very  regularly  to  Wen- 
derholme church,  and  sat  there  in  a  small  pew  of  her  own, 
which  bore  the  same  relation  to  the  big  family  pew  that  the 
cottage   bore   to  the    Hall.     John    Stanburne    had  objected 
very  strongly  to  his  mother's  removal  to  the  cottage,  and  he 
had  also  objected  to  the  separate  pew,  but  his  mother  main- 
tained the  utility  of  both  institutions.     She  said  it  was  good 
for  an  old  woman,  who  found  some  difficulty  in  fixing  her 
attention  steadily,  not  to  be  disturbed  in  her  devotions  by 
the  presence  of  too  many  strangers  in  the  same  pew  ;  and 
as   there  would  often  be  company  at  the   Hall,  she  would 
stick  to  her  own  seat.     So  she  sat  there  as  usual  on  this 
particular  Sunday,   looking  very  nice  in   her  light  summer 
dress.     The    Colonel's   little   daughter,    Edith,    had   slipped 
into   her  grandmamma's   pew,  as   she  often   did,  when   they 
were  walking  up  the  aisle.     She  had  been  staying  at  the 
cottage  during  her  mother's  absence,  as  was  her  custom  when 
Lady  Helena  went  to  London  ;  and  it  had  cost  her,  as  usual. 


198  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

a  little  pang  to  leave  the  old  lady  by  herself  again.  Besides, 
she  felt  that  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  sit  with  her  grand- 
mother than  with  all  those  strange  militia  officers.  She 
would  have  felt,  in  the  family  pew,  as  a  very  young  sapling 
may  be  supposed  to  feel  when  it  is  surrounded  by  over 
poweringly  big  trees  —  sufficiently  protected,  no  doubt,  but 
more  than  sufficiently  overshadowed. 

Amongst  the  officers  in  the  Wenderholme  pew  was  Lieu- 
tenant Ogden,  and  by  his  side  a  young  gentleman  whose 
presence  has  not  hitherto  been  mentioned,  namely,  little 
Jacob.  Little  Jacob's  curious  eyes  wandered  over  the  quaint 
old  church  during  the  sermon,  and  they  fixed  frequently  upon 
the  strange  hatchments  and  marble  monuments  in  the  chapel 
of  the  Stanburnes.  He  had  never  seen  such  things  before 
in  his  life  (for  there  were  no  old  families  at  Shayton),  and 
he  marvelled  greatly  thereat.  Advancing,  however,  from  the 
known  to  the  unknown,  he  remembered  the  royal  arms  which 
decorated  the  front  of  the  organ  gallery  in  Shayton  church, 
and  finding  a  similar  ornament  at  Wenderholme,  proceeded 
to  the  inference  that  the  hatchments  were  something  of  the 
same  kind,  in  which  he  was  not  far  wrong.  Gradually  his 
eyes  fell  upon  Mrs.  Stanburne's  pew,  and  rested  there.  A 
vague  new  feeling  crept  into  his  being;  Edith  Stanburne 
seemed  very  nice,  he  thought.  It  was  pleasant  to  look  upon 
her  face. 

Here  the  more  rigid  of  my  readers  may  exclaim,  "  Surely 
he  is  not  going  to  make  little  Jacob  fall  in  love  at  that  age !  " 
Well,  not  as  you  would  fall  in  love,  respected  reader,  if  that 
good  or  evil  fortune  were  to  happen  to  you  ;  but  a  child  like 
little  Jacob  is  perfectly  capable  of  falling  in  love  in  his  own 
way.  The  loves  of  children  bear  about  the  same  proportion 
to  the  great  passion  which  rules  the  destiny  of  men,  that 
their  contests  in  fisticuffs  do  to  the  bloody  work  of  the  bayo- 
net ;  but  as  we  may  many  of  us  remember  having  given  Bob 
or  Tom  an  ugly-looking  black  eye,  or  perchance  remember 


Chap.  XXIII.         Husbaud  and  Wife.  199 

having  received  one  from  Tom  or  Bob,  so  also  there  may 
linger  amongst  the  recollections  of  our  infancy  some  vision 
of  a  sweet  little  child-face  that  seemed  to  us  brighter  than 
any  other  face  in  the  whole  world.  In  this  way  did  Edith 
Stanburne  take  possession  of  Master  Jacob's  honest  little 
heart,  and  become  the  object  of  his  silent,  and  tender,  and 
timid,  and  exceedingly  respectful  adoration.  He  intensely 
felt  the  distance  between  himself  and  the  heiress  of  Wen- 
derholme  Hall,  and  so  he  admired  her  as  some  young  officer 
about  a  court  may  admire  some  beautiful  princess  whom 
it  is  his  dangerous  privilege  to  see.  Children  are  affected 
by  the  externals  of  ancient  wealth  to  a  degree  which  the 
mature  mind,  dwelling  amongst  figures,  is  scarcely  capable 
of  realizing ;  and  the  difference  between  Wenderholme  and 
Twistle  Farm,  or  Wenderholme  and  Milend,  seemed  to  little 
Jacob's  imagination  an  utterly  impassable  abyss.  But  there 
was  steam  in  Ogden's  mill,  and  there  was  a  leak  in  John 
Stanburne's  purse,  and  the  slow  months  and  years  were 
gradually  bringing  about  great  changes. 

Little  Jacob's  adventure  on  the  moor,  and  his  fortunate 
arrival  at  the  Hall,  had  given  him  a  peculiar  footing  there. 
Colonel  Stanburne  had  taken  a  marked  fancy  to  the  lad ; 
and  Lady  Helena  —  who,  as  the  reader  may  perhaps  remem- 
ber, had  lost  two  little  boys  in  their  infancy  —  was  always 
associating  him  with  her  tenderest  regrets  and  recollections, 
so  that  there  was  a  sad  kindness  in  her  ways  with  him  that 
drew  him  very  strongly  towards  her.  Isaac  Ogden  spoke 
the  Lancashire  dialect  as  thoroughly,  when  it  suited  him,  as 
any  cotton-spinner  in  the  county ;  but  he  could  also  speak, 
when  he  chose,  a  sort  of  English  which  differed  from  aris- 
tocratic English  by  greater  hardness  and  body,  rather  than 
by  any  want  of  correctness,  and  he  had  always  strictly  for- 
bidden little  Jacob  to  speak  the  Lancashire  dialect  in  his 
presence.  The  lad  spoke  Lancashire  all  the  more  energeti- 
cally for   this   prohibition  when   his  father  was  not  within 


200  Wender holme.  Part  i 

nearing ;  but  the  severity  of  the  paternal  law  had  at  least 
given  him  an  equal  facility  in  English,  and  he  kept  the  two 
languages  safely  in  separate  boxes  in  his  cranium.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  say  that  at  Wenderholme  Hall  the  box  which 
contained  the  Lancashire  dialect  was  shut  up  with  lock  and 
key,  and  nothing  but  the  purest  English  was  produced,  so 
that  her  ladyship  thought  that  the  little  boy  "  spoke  very 
nicely  —  with  a  northern  accent,  of  course,  but  it  was  not 
disagreeable." 

When  they  came  out  of  church  Lady  Helena  said  to  Lieu- 
tenant Ogden,  "  Of  course  you  will  briug  your  little  boy  here 
on  Thursday  for  the  presentation  of  colors ; "  and  then, 
whilst  Mr,  Ogden  was  expressing  his  acknowledgments,  she 
interrupted  him  :  "  Why  not  let  him  remain  with  us  till  then  ? 
We  will  try  to  amuse  him,  and  make  him  learn  his  lessons." 
Mr.  Ogden  said  he  would  have  been  very  glad,  but  —  in 
short,  his  mother  was  staying  at  Sootythorn,  and  might  wish 
to  keep  her  little  grandson  with  her.  Colonel  Stanburne 
came  up  just  then,  and  her  ladyship's  answer  was  no  doubt 
partially  intended  for  his  ear.  "  Let  me  keep  little  Jacob  till 
to-morrow  at  any  rate.  I  have  several  people  to  see  in 
Sootythorn,  and  must  go  there  to-morrow.  I  scarcely  know 
how  I  am  to  get  there,  though,  for  I  have  no  carriage-horses." 


Chap.  XXIV.    The  Colonel  as  a  Consoler.  201 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE  COLONEL  AS   A   CONSOLER. 

"  T  SAY,  Doctor,"  said  Colonel  Stanburne  to  Dr.  Bardly, 
-■-  the  day  before  the  presentation  of  colors,  "  I  wish 
you'd  look  to  Philip  Stanburne  a  little.  He  doesn't  seem  to 
me  to  be  going  on  satisfactorily  at  all.  I  'm  afraid  that  acci- 
dent at  Whittlecup  has  touched  his  brain  —  he's  so  absent. 
He  commanded  his  company  very  fairly  a  short  time  back, 
and  he  took  an  interest  in  drill,  but  now,  upon  my  word,  he 
gets  worse  and  worse.  To-day  he  made  the  most  absurd 
mistakes  ;  and  one  time  he  marched  his  company  right  off, 
and,  by  George  !  I  thought  he  was  going  to  take  them  straight 
at  the  hedge ;  and  I  believe  he  would  have  done  so  if  the 
Adjutant  hadn't  galloped  after  him.  Eureton  rowed  him  so, 
that  it  brought  him  to  his  senses.  I  never  saw  such  a  youth. 
He  doesn't  seem  to  be  properly  awake.  I  'm  sure  he  's  ill. 
He  eats  nothing.  I  noticed  him  at  mess  last  night.  He 
didn't  eat  enough  to  keep  a  baby  alive.  I  don't  believe  he 
sleeps  properly  at  nights.  His  face  is  quite  haggard.  One 
might  imagine  he  'd  got  something  on  his  conscience.  If  you 
can't  do  him  any  good,  I  '11  see  the  Catholic  priest,  and  beg 
him  to  set  his  mind  at  ease.  I  'm  quite  anxious  about  him, 
really." 

The  Doctor  smiled.  "  It 's  my  opinion,"  he  said,  "  that  the 
young  gentleman  has  a  malady  that  neither  you  nor  I  can 
cure.  Some  young  woman  may  cure  it,  but  we  can't.  The 
lad's  fallen  in  love." 


202  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

"Why,  Doctor,  you  don't  believe  that  young  fellows  make 
themselves  ill  about  such  little  matters  as  that,  do  you  ?  Men 
are  ill  in  that  way  in  novels,  but  never  in  real  life.  I  was  des- 
perately spoony  myself  before  I  married  Helena,  and  it  wasn't 
Helena  I  was  spoony  about  either,  and  the  girl  jilted  me  to 
marry  a  marquis  ;  and  I  think  she  did  quite  right,  for  I  'd 
rather  she  ran  away  with  the  marquis  before  she  was  my  wife 
than  after,  you  know.  But  it  didn't  spoil  me  a  single  meal 
—  it  didn't  make  me  sleep  a  wink  the  less.  In  fact  I  felt 
immensely  relieved  after  an  hour  or  two  ;  for  there  's  nothing 
like  being  a  bachelor.  Doctor  —  it's  so  jolly  being  a  bache- 
lor ;  no  man  in  his  senses  can  be  sad  and  melancholy  because 
he  's  got  to  remain  a  bachelor." 

The  Doctor  heartily  agreed  with  this  opinion,  but  observed 
that  men  in  love  were  not  men  in  their  senses.  "  Indeed  they  're 
not,  Doctor  —  indeed  they're  not;  but,  I  say,  have  you  any 
idea  about  who  the  girl  is  in  this  business  of  Philip's  ?  It 
isn't  that  pretty  Miss  Anison,  is  it  ?  " 

Now  the  Doctor  had  seen  Captain  Stanburne  coming  out 
of  Mr.  Stedman's  mill  one  day  when  he  went  there  to  get 
the  manufacturer's  present  address,  and,  coupling  this  inci- 
dent with  his  leave  of  absence,  had  arrived  at  a  conclusion 
of  his  own.  But  he  was  not  quite  sure  where  young  Stan- 
burne had  been  during  his  leave  of  absence. 

"  Why,  he  was  down  in  Derbyshire,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"  He  told  me  he  didn't  feel  quite  well,  and  wanted  a  day  or 
two  for  rest  in  the  country.  He  said  he  was  going  to  fish.  I 
don't  like  giving  leaves  of  absence  —  we're  here  only  for 
twenty-eight  days  ;  but  in  his  case,  you  know,  after  that  ac- 
cident "  — 

"  Oh,  he  went  down  to  Derbyshire,  did  he  ?  Then  I  know 
for  certain  who  the  girl  is.  It 's  Alice  Stedman.  Her  father 
is  down  there,  fishing." 

"  And  who  's  she  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  met  her  at  Whittlecup,    at  Joseph   Anison's. 


Chap.  XXIV.    The  Colonel  as  a  Consoler.  203 

She  's  a  quiet  bit  of  a  lass,  and  a  nice-looking  lass,  too.  He 
might  do  worse." 

"  I  say,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  tell  me  now,  Doctor,  has  she 
got  any  tin  ?  " 

"She's  safe  to  have  thirty  thousand  if  she's  a  penny ; 
but  it '11  most  likely  be  a  good  bit  more."  Then  the  Doctor 
continued,  "  But  there  's  no  blood  in  that  family.  Her  father 
began  as  a  working  man  in  Shayton.  It  wouldn't  be  much 
of  a  match  for  a  Stanburne.  It  would  not  be  doing  like  you, 
Colonel,  when  you  married  an  earl's  daughter." 

"  Hang  earls'- daughters  !  "  said  the  Colonel,  energetically  ; 
and  then,  recollecting  himself,  he  added,  "  Not  all  of  em,  you 
know,  Doctor —  I  don't  want  all  of  'em  to  be  hanged.  But 
this  young"  woman  —  I  suppose  she  hasn't  been  presented  at 
Court,  and  doesn't  want  to  be  —  and  doesn't  go  to  London 
every  season,  and  has  no  swell  relations."  The  Doctor  gave 
full  assurances  on  all  these  points.  "  Then  I  '11  tell  you  what 
it  is,  Doctor  ;  if  this  young  fellow  's  fretting  about  the  girl, 
we  '11  do  all  we  can  to  help  him.  He  'd  be  more  prudent  still 
if  he  remained  a  bachelor  ;  but  it  seems  a  rational  sort  of  a 
marriage  to  make.  She  ain't  got  an  uncle  that 's  a  baronet  — 
eh.  Doctor?" 

"  There  's  no  danger  of  that." 

"  That 's  right,  that 's  right ;  because,  look  you  here,  Doc- 
tor—  it's  a  foolish  thing  to  marry  an  earl's  daughter,  or  a 
marquis's,  or  a  duke's  ;  but  the  foolishest  thing  of  all  is  to 
marry  a  baronet's  niece.  A  baronet's  niece  is  the  proudest 
woman  in  the  whole  world,  and  she  's  always  talking  about 
her  uncle.  A  young  friend  of  mine  married  a  baronet's  niece, 
and  she  gave  him  no  rest  till,  by  good  luck,  one  day  his  uncle 
was  created  a  baronet,  and  then  he  met  her  on  equal  terms. 
It's  the  only  way  out  of  it:  you  must  under  those  circum- 
stances get  your  uncle  made  a  baronet.  And  if  you  don't 
happen  to  have  such  a  thing  as  an  uncle,  what  then  ?  What 
can  cheer  the  hopelessness  of  your  miserable  position  ?  " 


204  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

After  this  conversation  with  the  Doctor,  the  Colonel  had 
another  with  Philip  Stanburne  himself.  "Captain  Stan- 
burne,"  he  said,  gravely,  in  an  interval  of  afternoon  drill,  "  I 
consider  you  wanting  in  the  duties  of  hospitality.  I  ask  you 
to  the  Sootythorn  mess,  and  you  never  ask  me  to  the  Whit- 
tlecup  mess.  I  am  reduced  to  ask  myself.  I  beg  to  inform 
you  that  I  shall  dine  at  the  Whittlecup  mess  this  evening." 

"  I  should  be  very  happy,  but  —  but  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  have 
a  bad  dinner.     There  's  nothing  but  a  beefsteak." 

"  Permit  me  to  observe,"  continued  the  Colonel,  in  the 
same  grave  tone,  "  that  there  's  a  most  important  distinction  to 
be  drawn  between  bad  dinners  and  simple  dinners.  Some  of 
the  very  worst  dinners  I  ever  sat  down  to  have  been  elabo- 
rate, expensive  affairs,  where  the  ambition  of  the  cook  ex- 
ceeded his  artistic  skill ;  and  some  of  the  best  and  pleasantest 
have  been  simple  and  plain,  and  all  the  better  because  they 
were  within  the  cook's  capacity.  That 's  my  theory  about 
dining,  and  every  day's  experience  confirms  it.  For  instance, 
between  you  and  me,  it  seems  to  me  highly  probable  that 
your  Whittlecup  mess  is  better  than  ours  at  headquarters,  for 
Mr.  Garley  rather  goes  beyond  what  nature  and  education 
have  qualified  him  for.  His  joints  are  good,  but  his  side- 
dishes  are  detestable,  and  his  sweets  dangerous.  So  let  us 
have  the  beefsteak  to-night ;  there  '11  be  enough  for  both  of 
us,  I  suppose.  And,  I  say,"  added  the  Colonel,  "don't  ask 
anybody  to  meet  me.  I  want  to  have  a  quiet  hour  or  two 
with  you." 

When  drill  was  over,  Fyser  appeared  on  the  field  with  a 
led  horse  for  the  Captain,  and  the  two  Stanburnes  rode  off 
together  in  advance  of  the  company,  which  for  once  was  left 
to  the  old  sergeant's  care.  The  dinner  turned  out  to  be  a 
beefsteak,  as  had  been  promised,  and  there  was  a  pudding 
and  some  cheese.  The  Colonel  seemed  to  enjoy  it  very 
much,  and  ate  very  heartily,  and  declared  that  every  thing  was 
excellent,  and  talked   at  random  about  all  sorts  of  subjects. 


Chap.  XXIV.     The  Coloucl  as  a  Consoler.  205 

They  had  the  inn  parlor  all  to  themselves ;  and  when  dinner 
was  over,  and  coffee  had  been  served,  and  Mr.  Simpson,  the 
innkeeper  (who  had  waited),  had  retired  into  other  regions, 
the  Colonel  lighted  a  cigar,  and  plunged  in  medias  res. 

"  I  know  what  you  went  down  into  Derbyshire  for.  You 
didn't  go  to  fish ;  you  went  to  ask  Mr.  Stedman  to  let  you 
marry  his  daughter,  Miss  Alice  Stedman." 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  known  him,  Philip  Stanburne 
■was  angry  with  the  Colonel.  His  face  flushed  at  once,  and  he 
asked,  in  a  tone  which  was  any  thing  but  conciliatory,  — 

"  Do  you  keep  spies  in  your  regiment.  Colonel  Stanburne?  " 

"  Bardly  saw  you  accidentally  just  as  you  were  coming  out 
of  Mr.  Stedman's  counting-house,  and  between  us  we  have 
made  a  guess  at  the  object  of  your  visit  to  Derbyshire." 

"You  are  very  kind  to  interest  yourself  so  much  in  my 
affairs." 

"  Try  not  to  be  angry  with  me.  What  if  I  do  take  an  interest 
in  your  affairs  ?  It  isn't  wrong,  is  it  ?  I  take  an  interest  in  all 
that  concerns  you,  because  I  wish  to  do  what  I  can  to  be  of 
use  to  you." 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

"  You  are  angry  with  me  yet ;  but  if  I  had  plagued  you  with 
questions  about  your  little  excursion,  would  it  not  have  been 
more  impertinent  and  more  irritating?  I  thought  it  best  to 
let  you  see  that  I  know  all  about  it." 

"  It  was  unnecessary  to  speak  upon  that  subject  until  I  had 
informed  you  about  it." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  look  here.  It  is  not  in  the  nature  of 
things  that  you  would  tell  me.  You  have  been  rejected  either 
by  the  father  or  the  daughter,  and  you  are  going  to  make 
yourself  ill  about  it ;  you  are  ill  already  —  you  are  pale,  and 
you  never  eat  any  thing,  and  your  face  is  as  melancholy  as  a 
face  well  can  be.  Be  a  good  fellow,  and  take  me  into  your 
confidence,  and  we  will  see  if  we  cannot  put  you  out  of  your 
misery." 


2o6  WenderJwlme.  Part  i. 

"That  is  a  phrase  commonly  used  by  people  who  kill  dis- 
eased or  wounded  animals.  You  are  becoming  alarming.  You 
will  let  me  live,  I  hope,  such  as  I  am." 

The  Colonel  perceived  that  Philip  was  coming  round  a  little. 
He  waited  a  minute,  and  then  went  on. 

"She's  a  very  nice  girl.  I  met  her  at  Mr.  Anison's  here. 
I  would  rather  you  married  her  than  one  of  those  pretty  Miss 
Anisons.  She  seems  a  quiet  sensible  young  lady,  who  will 
stay  at  home  with  her  husband,  and  not  always  be  wanting 
to  go  off  to  London,  and  Brighton,  and  the  Lord  knows 
where." 

Philip  had  had  a  suspicion  that  the  Colonel  was  going  to 
remonstrate  with  him  for  making  a  plebeian  alliance,  but  that 
began  to  be  dispelled.  To  induce  him  to  express  an  opinion 
on  that  point,  Philip  said, — 

"  Her  father  is  not  a  gentleman,  you  know." 

"  I  know  who  he  is  —  a  very  well-to-do  cotton  manufacturer  ; 
and  a  very  intelligent,  well-informed  man,  I  'm  told.  A  gentle- 
man !  pray  what  is  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  A  difftcult  question  to  answer  in  words  ;  but  we  all  know 
what  we  mean  by  the  word  when  we  use  it." 

"  Well,  yes  ;  but  is  it  quite  necessary  to  a  man  to  be  a 
gentleman  at  all  .■'  Upon  my  word,  I  very  often  think  that  in 
our  line  of  life  we  are  foolishly  rigid  on  that  point.  I  have 
met  very  clever  and  distinguished  men  —  men  of  science,  and 
artists,  and  even  authors  —  who  didn't  seem  quite  to  answer  to 
our  notions  of  what  a  gentleman  is  ;  and  I  know  scores  of 
fellows  who  are  useless  and  idle,  and  vicious  too,  and  given 
up  to  nothing  but  amusement  —  and  not  always  the  most 
innocent  amusement  either  —  and  yet  all  who  know  society 
would  recognize  them  as  gentlemen  at  once.  Now,  between 
ourselves,  you  and  I  answer  to  what  is  called  a  gentleman,  and 
your  proposed  father-in-law,  Mr.  Stedman,  you  say  doesn't  j 
but  it 's  highly  probable  that  he  is  superior  to  either  of  us,  and 
a  deal   more  useful   to  mankind.     He  spins  cotton,  and  he 


Chap.  XXIV.     The  Colouel  as  a  Consoler.  207 

studies  botany  and  geology.  I  wish  I  could  spin  cotton,  or 
increase  my  income  in  any  honest  way,  and  I  wish  I  had  some 
pursuit.  I  tried  once  or  twice :  I  tried  botany  myself,  but  I 
had  no  perseverance  ;  and  I  tried  to  write  a  book,  but  I  found 
my  abilities  weren't  good  enough  for  that ;  so  I  turned  my 
talents  to  tandem-driving,  and  now  I  've  set  up  a  four-in-hand. 
By  the  by,  my  new  team  's  coming  to-morrow  from  London  — 
a  friend  of  mine  there  has  purchased  it  for  me." 

There  was  a  shade  of  dissatisfaction  on  John  Stanburne's 
face  as  he  concluded  this  little  speech  about  himself.  He  did 
not  seem  to  anticipate  the  arrival  of  the  new  team  with 
pleasure  unalloyed.  The  price,  perhaps,  may  have  been  some- 
what heavy  —  somewhat  beyond  his  means.  That  London 
friend  of  his  was  a  sporting  character,  with  an  ardent  appre- 
ciation of  horse-flesh  in  the  abstract,  and  an  elevated  ideal. 
When  he  purchased  for  friends,  which  he  was  sometimes  com- 
missioned to  do,  he  became  truly  a  servant  of  the  Ideal,  and 
sought  out  only  such  realities  as  a  servant  of  the  Ideal  might 
contemplate  with  feelings  of  satisfaction.  These  realities 
were  always  very  costly  —  they  always  considerably  exceeded 
the  pecuniary  limits  which  had  been  assigned  to  him.  This 
was  his  only  fault ;  he  purchased  well,  and  none  of  the  pur- 
chase-money, either  directly  or  indirectly,  found  its  way  into 
his  own  pocket. 

The  Colonel  did  not  dwell,  as  he  might  have  been  expected 
to  do,  upon  the  subject  of  the  horses  —  he  returned  almost 
immediately  to  that  of  matrimonial  alliances. 

"  It 's  not  very  difficult  to  make  a  guess  at  the  cause  of  Mr. 
Stedman's  opposition.  Bardly  tells  me  he 's  a  most  tremendous 
Protestant,  earnest  to  a  degree,  and  you,  my  dear  fellow,  hap- 
pen to  be  a  Catholic.  You  '11  have  to  let  yourself  be  con  ■ 
verted,  I  'm  afraid,  if  you  really  want  the  girl." 

"  A  man  cannot  change  his  faith,  when  he  has  one,  because 
it  is  his  interest  to  do  so.  I  would  rather  you  did  not  talk 
about  that  subject  —  at  least,  in  that  strain.     You  know  my 


2o8  Weiiderholme.  Part  t. 

views  ;  you  know  that  nothing  would  induce  me  to  profess  any 
other  views." 

"  Bardly  tells  me  he  doesn't  think  Stedman  will  give  in,  so 
long  as  you  remain  a  Catholic." 

"Very  well." 

"  Yes,  it  may  be  very  well  —  it  may  be  better  than  marrying. 
It's  a  very  good  thing,  no  doubt,  to  marry  a  good  wife,  but 
I'm  not  sure  that  the  condition  of  a  bachelor  isn't  really 
better  than  that  of  the  most  fortunate  husband  in  the  world. 
You  see,  Philip  (excuse  me  calling  you  by  your  Christian 
name;  I  wish  you'd  call  me  John),  you  see  a  married  man 
either  cares  about  his  wife  or  he  doesn't.  If  he  doesn't  care 
about  her,  what 's  the  use  of  being  married  to  her.''  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  does  care  about  her,  then  his  happiness  becomes 
entirely  dependent  upon  her  humors.  Some  women  —  who  are 
very  good  women  in  other  respects  —  are  liable  to  long  fits  of 
the  sulks.  You  omit  some  little  attention  which  they  think  is 
their  due ;  you  omit  it  in  pure  innocence,  because  your  mind 
is  very  much  occupied  with  other  matters,  and  then  the  lady 
attributes  it  to  all  sorts  of  imaginar)'  motives  —  it  is  a  plan 
of  yours  to  insult  her,  and  so  on.  Or,  if  she  attributes  it  to 
carelessness,  then  your  carelessness  is  itself  such  a  tremen- 
dous crime  that  she  isn't  quite  certain  whether  you  ought  ever 
to  be  forgiven  for  it  or  not  ;  and  she  hesitates  about  forgiving 
you  for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  and  then  she  decides  that 
you  shall  be  forgiven,  and  taken  into  her  grace  and  favor 
once  more.  But  by  the  time  this  has  been  repeated  twenty 
or  thirty  times,  a  fellow  gets  rather  weary  of  it,  you  know. 
It 's  my  belief  that  women  are  divided  into  two  classes  —  the 
sulky  ones  and  the  scolds.  Some  of  'em  do  their  sulking 
in  a  way  that  clearly  shows  it 's  done  consciously,  and  inten- 
tionally, and  artistically,  as  a  Frenchwoman  arranges  her 
ribbons.  The  great  object  is  to  show  you  that  the  lady  holds 
herself  in  perfect  command  —  that  she  is  mistress  of  her  own 
manner  in  every  thing  ;  and  this  makes  her  manner  all  the 


Chap.  XXIV.    The  Colonel  as  a  Consoler.  209 

more  aggravating ;  because,  if  she  is  so  perfectly  mistress  of 
it,  why  doesn't  she  make  it  rather  pleasanter? " 

"  It 's  rather  a  gloomy  picture  that  you  have  been  painting, 
Colonel,  but  every  lover  will  believe  that  there  is  one  excep- 
tion to  it." 

"Of  course  he  will.  You  believe  Miss  Alice  Stedman  is 
the  exception  ;  only,  if  you  can't  get  her,  don't  fret  about  her. 
She  seems  a  very  admirable  young  lady,  and  I  should  be  glad 
if  you  married  her ;  because,  if  you  don't,  the  chances  are 
that  you  will  marry  somebody  else  not  quite  so  suitable.  But 
if  I  could  be  quite  sure  that  you  would  remain  a  bachelor, 
and  take  a  rational  view  of  the  immense  advantages  of  bach- 
elorhood, I  shouldn't  much  regret  Mr.  Stedman's  obduracy 
on  your  account." 

These  views  of  the  Colonel's  were  due,  no  doubt,  to  his 
present  position  with  Lady  Helena.  The  causes  which  were 
gradually  dividing  them  had  been  slowly  operating  for  several 
years,  but  the  effects  which  resulted  from  them  were  now  much 
more  visible  than  they  had  ever  previously  been.  First  they 
had  walked  together  on  one  path,  then  the  path  had  been 
divided  into  two  by  an  all  but  invisible  separation  —  still  they 
had  walked  together.  But  now  the  two  paths  were  diverging 
so  widely  that  the  eye  began  to  measure  the  space  between 
them,  and  as  it  measured  the  space  widened.  It  is  as  when 
two  trains  leave  some  great  railway  station  side  by  side.  For 
a  time  they  are  on  the  same  railroad,  but  after  a  while  you 
begin  to  perceive  that  the  distance  from  your  own  train  to  the 
other  is  gradually  widening ;  and  on  looking  down  to  the 
ground,  which  seems  to  flow  like  a  swift  stream,  you  see  a 
streak  of  green  between  the  two  diverging  ways,  and  it  deep- 
ens to  a  chasm  between  two  embankments ;  and  after  that 
they  are  separated  by  spaces  ever  widening — spaces  of  field 
and  river  and  wood — till  the  steam  of  the  other  engine  has 
vanished  on  the  far  horizon. 

John   Stanburne's  offers  of  assistance  were  very  sincere, 

14 


2IO  Wender holme.  Pakt  i. 

but  what,  in  a  practical  way,  could  he  do?  He  could  not 
make  Mr.  Stedman  come  round  by  asking  him  to  Wender- 
holme.  There  were  plenty  of  people  at  Sootythorn  who 
would  have  done  any  thing  to  be  asked  to  Wenderholme, 
but  Mr.  Stedman  was  not  one  of  them.  Him  the  blandish- 
ments of  aristocracy  seduced  not ;  and  there  was  something 
in  his  looks,  even  when  you  met  him  merely  by  accident  for 
an  hour,  as  the  Colonel  had  met  him  at  Arkwright  Lodge, 
which  told  you  very  plainly  how  obdurate  he  would  be  where 
his  convictions  were  concerned,  and  how  perfectly  inacces- 
sible to  the  most  artful  and  delicate  coaxing.  So  the  Colonel's 
good  offices  were  for  the  present  very  likely  to  be  confined  to 
a  general  willingness  to  do  something  when  the  opportunity 
should  present  itself. 

The  day  fixed  for  the  ceremony  of  presentation  of  colors 
was  now  rapidly  approaching,  and  the  invitations  had  all 
been  sent  out.  It  was  the  Colonel's  especial  desire  that  this 
should  take  place  at  Wenderholme,  and  the  whole  regiment 
was  to  arrive  there  the  evening  before,  after  a  regular  military 
march  from  Sootythorn.  The  Colonel  had  invited  as  many 
guests  of  his  own  as  the  house  could  hold  ;  and,  in  addition 
to  these,  many  of  the  Sootythorn  people,  and  one  family  from 
Whitllecup,  were  asked  to  spend  the  day  at  Wenderholme 
Hall,  and  be  witnesses  of  the  ceremony.  The  Whittlecup 
family,  as  the  reader  has  guessed  already,  was  that  from 
Arkwright  Lodge  ;  and  it  happened  that  whilst  the  Colonel 
was  talking  with  Philip  Stanburne  about  his  matrimonial 
prospects,  Mr.  Joseph  Anison  came  to  the  Blue  Bell  to  call 
upon  his  young  friend. 

Philip  and  the  Colonel  were  both  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow when  he  came,  and  before  he  entered  the  room,  the 
Colonel  found  time  to  say,  "  Take  Anison  into  your  confi- 
dence—  hc^W  be  your  best  man,  he  knows  Stedman  so 
well.  Let  me  tell  him  all  about  it,  will  you  ?  Do,  now,  let 
me."     Philip  consented,  somewhat  reluctantly,  and  Mr.  An- 


Chap.  XXIV.      The  Colonel  as  a  Consoler.  2 1 1 

ison  had  not  been  in  the  room  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
the  Colonel  had  put  him  in  possession  of  the  whole  matter. 
Mr.  An  ison 's  face  did  not  convey  very  much  encouragement. 
"John  Stedman  is  very  inflexible,"  he  said,  "where  his  re- 
ligious convictions  are  in  any  way  concerned,  and  he  is  very 
strongly  Protestant.  I  will  do  what  I  can  with  him.  I  don't 
see  why  he  should  make  such  a  very  determined  opposition 
to  the  match  —  it  would  be  a  very  good  match  for  his  daugh- 
ter—  but  he  is  a  sort  of  man  that  positively  enjoys  sacri- 
ficing his  interests  and  desires  to  his  views  of  duty.  If  I  've 
any  advice  to  offer,  it  will  be  to  leave  him  to  himself  for  a 
while,  and  especially  not  to  do  any  thing  to  conciliate  him. 
His  daughter  7nay  bring  him  round  in  her  own  way ;  she  's  a 
clever  girl,  though  she's  a  quiet  one  —  and  she  can  manage 
him  better  than  anybody  else." 

When  Mr.  An  ison  got  back  to  Arkwright  Lodge,  he  had  a 
talk  with  Mrs.  Anison  about  Philip's  prospects,  "/shouldn't 
have  objected  to  him  as  a  son-in-law,"  said  the  husband  ; 
"  he  'II  be  reasonable  enough,  and  let  his  wife  go  to  her  own 
church." 

"  I  wish  he  'd  taken  a  fancy  to  Madge,"  said  Mrs.  Anison. 

"  Have  you  any  particular  reason  for  wishing  so  ?  Do  you 
suspect  any  thing  in  Madge  herself  ?  Do  you  think  she  cares 
for  him  ?  " 

Mrs.  Anison  looked  grave,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, said,  "  I  'm  afraid  there  is  something.  I  'm  afraid  she 
does  think  about  him  more  than  she  ought  to  do.  She  is  more 
irritable  and  excitable  than  she  used  to  be,  and  there  is  a  look 
of  care  and  anxiety  on  her  face  which  is  quite  painful  some- 
times. And  yet  I  fancy  that  when  Alice  was  here  she  rather 
encouraged  young  Stanburne  to  propose  to  Alice.  She  did 
it,  no  doubt,  from  anxiety  to  know  how  far  he  would  go  in 
that  direction,  and  now  he  's  gone  farther  than  she  wished." 


2 1 2  Wenderholme.  Part  I. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

WENDERHOLME   IN   FESTIVITY. 

AT  length  the  eve  of  the  great  day  arrived  on  which  the 
Twentieth  Royal  Lancashire  was  to  possess  its  colors 
—  those  colors  which  (according  to  the  phrase  so  long  estab- 
lished by  the  usage  of  speech-making  subalterns)  it  was  pre- 
pared to  dye  with  all  its  blood  —  yes,  to  the  very  last  drop 
thereof. 

Lady  Helena  had  had  a  terribly  busy  time  during  the  whole 
week.  Arrangements  for  this  ceremony  had  been  the  sub- 
ject of  anxious  planning  for  months  before  ;  and  during  her 
last  stay  in  London  her  ladyship  had  been  very  active  in 
seeing  tradesmen  accustomed  to  create  those  temporary  splen- 
dors and  accommodations  which  are  necessary  when  great 
numbers  of  people  are  to  be  entertained.  Mr.  Benjamin 
Edgington  had  sent  down  so  many  tents  and  marquees  that 
the  park  of  Wenderholme  presented  the  appearance  of  a 
rather  extensive  camp.  The  house  itself  contained  even 
more  than  the  amount  of  accommodation  commonly  found  in 
houses  of  its  class,  but  every  chamber  had  its  destined  occu- 
pant. A  great  luncheon  was  to  be  given  in  the  largest  of 
the  marquees,  and  the  whole  regiment  was  to  be  entertained 
for  a  night  and  a  day. 

The  weather,  fortunately,  was  most  propitious,  the  only  ob- 
jection to  it  being  the  heat,  and  the  consequent  dust  on  the 
roads.  Once  fairly  out  of  Sootythorn,  the  Colonel  gave  per- 
mission to  march  at  ease,  and  the  men  opened  their  jackets 
and  took  their  stiff  collars  off,  and  began  to  sing  and  talk 


Chap.  XXV.       Weiiderholme  in  Festivity.  2 1 3 

very  merrily.  They  halted,  too,  occasionally,  by  the  banks 
of  clear  streams,  and  scattered  themselves  on  the  grass, 
drinking  a  great  deal  of  water,  there  being  fortunately  noth- 
ing stronger  within  reach.  At  the  half-way  house,  however, 
the  Colonel  gave  every  man  a  pint  of  ale,  and  drank  one 
himself,  as  he  sat  on  horseback. 

It  was  after  sunset  when  they  reached  Wenderholme,  and 
the  men  marched  into  the  park  —  not  at  ease,  as  they  had 
marched  along  the  road,  but  in  fairly  good  military  order. 
Lady  Helena  and  a  group  of  visitors  stood  by  the  side  of 
the  avenue,  at  the  point  where  they  turned  off  towards  the 
camp.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  the  whole  regiment 
was  at  supper  in  the  tents,  except  the  officers,  who  dined  at 
the  Hall,  with  the  Colonel's  other  guests,  in  full  uniform. 
The  dining-room  presented  a  more  splendid  and  animated 
appearance  than  it  had  ever  presented  since  the  days  of  John 
Stanburne's  grandfather,  who  kept  a  pack  of  hounds,  and 
received  his  scarlet-coated  companions  at  his  table.  And 
even  the  merry  fox-hunters  of  yore  glittered  not  as  glittered 
all  these  majors  and  captains  and  lieutenants.  Their  full 
uniforms  were  still  as  fresh  as  when  they  came  from  the  tail- 
or's. They  had  not  been  soiled  in  the  dust  of  reviews,  for 
the  regiment  had  never  been  reviewed.  The  silver  of  the 
epaulettes  was  as  brilliant  as  the  brilliant  old  plate  that  cov- 
ered the  Colonel's  hospitable  board,  and  the  scarlet  was  as 
intense  as  that  of  the  freshest  flower  with  which  the  table 
was  decorated.  It  was  more  than  a  dinner  —  it  was  a  stately 
and  magnificent  banquet.  The  Stanburnes,  like  many  old 
families  in  England,  had  for  generations  been  buyers  of  silver 
plate,  and  there  was  enough  of  the  solid  metal  in  the  house 
to  set  up  a  hundred  showy  houses  with  electro.  Rarely  did 
it  come  forth  from  the  strong  safes  where  it  reposed,  eating 
up  in  its  unprofitable  idleness  the  interest  of  a  fortune.  But 
now  it  glittered  once  again  under  the  innumerable  lights,  a  het- 
erogeneous, a  somewhat  barbarous,  medley  of  magnificence. 


214  '  Wenderholme.  part  i 

Lady  Helena,  without  being  personally  self-indulgent  — 
without  caring  particularly  about  eating  delicately  or  being 
softly  clad  — had  a  natural  taste  for  splendor,  which  may  often 
be  independent  both  of  vanity  and  the  love  of  ease.  Human 
pomp  suited  her  as  the  pomp  of  nature  suits  the  mind  of  the 
artist  and  the  poet ;  instead  of  paralyzing  or  oppressing  her, 
it  only  made  her  feel  the  more  perfectly  at  home.  John 
Stanburne  had  known  beforehand  that  his  clever  wife  would 
order  the  festivities  well,  and  he  had  felt  no  anxiety  about 
her  management  in  any  way,  but  he  had  not  quite  counted 
upon  this  charming  gayety  and  ease.  There  are  ladies  who, 
upon  occasions  of  this  kind,  show  that  they  feel  the  weight 
of  their  responsibility,  and  bring  a  trouble-clouded  visage  to 
the  feast.  They  cannot  really  converse,  because  they  cannot 
really  listen.  They  hear  your  words,  perhaps,  but  do  not  re- 
ceive their  meaning,  being  distracted  by  importunate  cares. 
Nothing  kills  conversation  like  an  absent  and  preoccupied 
hostess  ;  nothing  animates  it  like  her  genial  and  intelligent  par- 
ticipation. Surely,  John  Stanburne,  you  may  be  proud  of  Helena 
to-night !    What  would  your  festival  have  been  without  her  ? 

He  recognizes  her  superiorities,  and  admires  them  ;  but  he 
would  like  to  be  delivered  from  the  little  inconveniences 
which  attend  them.  That  clear-headed  little  woman  has 
rather  too  much  of  the  habit  and  the  faculty  of  criticism,  and 
John  Stanburne  would  rather  be  believed  in  than  criticised. 
Like  many  other  husbands,  he  would  piously  uphold  that  an- 
tique religion  of  the  household  which  sets  up  the  husband  as 
the  deity  thereof — a  king  who  can  do  no  wrong.  If  these 
had  been  his  views  from  the  beginning — if  he  had  wanted 
simple  unreasoning  submission  to  his  judgment,  aid  unques- 
tioning acceptance  of  his  actions  —  what  a  mistake  he  made 
in  choosing  a  woman  like  Lady  Helena  !  He  who  marries  a 
woman  of  keen  sight  cannot  himself  expect  to  be  screened 
from  its  keenness.  And  this  woman  was  so  fearless — shall 
we  say  so  proud  ?  —  that  she  disdained  the  artifices  of  what 


Ciia:-'.  XXV.       Wenderholme  in  Festivity.  215 

might  have  been  a  pardonable  hypocrisy.  She  made  John 
Stanburne  feel  that  he  was  living  in  a  glass  case,  —  nay, 
more,  that  she  saw  through  his  clothes  —  through  his  skin  — 
into  his  viscera  —  into  his  brain.  You  must  love  a  woman 
very  much  indeed  to  bear  this  perpetual  scrutiny,  or  she  must 
love  you  very  much  to  make  it  not  altogether  intolerable. 
The  Colonel  had  a  reasonable  grievance  in  this,  that  in  the 
presence  of  his  wife  he  found  no  moral  rest.  But  her  criti- 
cisms were  invariably  just.  For  example,  in  that  last  cause 
of  irritation  between  them  —  that  about  the  horses  —  Lady 
Helena  had  been  clearly  in  the  right.  It  was,  to  say  the 
least,  a  want  of  good  management  on  the  Colonel's  part  to 
have  all  the  carriage-horses  at  Sootythorn  on  the  day  of  her 
arrival.  And  so  it  always  was.  She  never  made  any  obser- 
vation on  his  conduct  except  when  such  an  observation  was 
perfectly  justified — perfectly  called  for,  if  you  will ;  but  then, 
on  the  other  hand,  she  never  omitted  to  make  an  observation 
when  it  was  called  for.  It  would  have  been  more  graceful  — 
it  would  certainly  have  been  more  prudent  —  to  let  things 
pass  sometimes  without  taking  them  up  in  that  way.  She 
might  have  let  John  Stanburne  rest  more  quietly  in  his  own 
house,  I  think ;  she  might  have  forgiven  his  little  faults  more 
readily,  more  freely,  more  generously  than  she  did.  The 
reader  perhaps  wonders  whether  she  loved  him.  Yes,  she 
was  greatly  attached  to  him.  She  loved  him  a  great  deal 
better  than  some  women  love  their  husbands  who  give  them 
perfect  peace,  and  yet  she  contrived  to  make  him  feel  an  irk- 
someness  in  the  tie  that  bound  him.  Perhaps,  with  all  her 
perspicacity,  she  did  not  quite  thoroughly  comprehend  —  did 
not  quite  adequately  appreciate  —  his  simple,  and  frank,  and 
honorable  nature,  his  manly  kindness  of  heart,  his  willingness 
to  do  all  that  could  fairly  be  required  of  him,  and  the  sincer- 
ity with  which  he  would  have  regretted  all  his  little  failures 
in  conjugal  etiquette,  if  only  he  might  have  been  left  to  find 
them  out  for  himself,  and  repent  of  them  a' one. 


2 1 6  IV ender holme.  Part  i. 

The  digression  has  been  long,  but  the  banquet  we  were 
describing  was  long  enough  to  permit  us  to  absent  ourselves 
from  the  spectacle  for  a  while,  and  still  find,  on  returning  to 
it,  all  the  guests  seated  in  their  places,  and  all  the  lights 
burning,  though  the  candles  may  be  half  an  inch  shorter. 
Amongst  the  guests  are  several  personages  to  whom  we  have 
not  yet  had  the  honor  of  being  introduced,  and  some  good 
people,  not  personages,  whom  we  know  already,  but  have 
lost  sight  of  for  a  long  time.  There  are  two  belted  earls  — 
namely,  the  Earl  of  Adisham,  Lady  Helena's  august  papa ; 
and  the  Earl  Brabazon,  who  is  papa  to  Captain  Brabazon  of 
the  Sootythorn  mess.  There  are  two  neighboring  baronets, 
and  five  or  six  country  squires  from  distant  manor-houses, 
some  of  which  are  not  less  considerable  than  Wenderholme 
itself,  whilst  the  rent-rolls  which  maintain  them  are  longer. 
Then  there  is  a  military  commander,  with  gray  whiskers  and 
one  eye,  and  an  ugly  old  sword-cut  across  the  cheek.  He  is 
in  full  uniform,  with  three  medals  and  perfect  ladders  of 
clasps  —  the  ladders  by  which  he  has  climbed  to  his  present 
distinguished  position.  He  wears  also  the  insignia  of  the 
Bath,  of  which  he  is  Grand  Cross. 

But  of  all  these  personages,  the  most  distinguished  in 
point  of  rank  must  certainly  be  the  little  thin  gentleman 
who  is  sitting  by  Lady  Helena.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  he 
is  perfectly  delighted  with  her  ladyship,  for  he  is  constantly 
talking  to  her  with  evident  interest  and  pleasure,  or  listening 
to  her  with  pleasure  still  more  evident.  He  has  a  broad 
ribbon  across  his  white  waistcoat,  and  another  round  his 
neck,  and  a  glittering  star  on  his  black  coat.  It  is  his 
Grace  of  Ingleborough,  Lord  Henry  Ughtred's  noble  father. 
He  is  a  simple,  modest  little  man  —  both  agreeable  and,  in 
his  way,  intelligent ;  an  excellent  man  of  business,  as  his 
stewards  and  agents  know  too  well  —  and  one  of  the  best 
Greek  scholars  in  England.  Habits  of  real  work,  in  any 
direction,  have  a  tendency  to  diminish  pride  in  those  gifts 


Chap.  XXV.       Wenderliolme  in  Festivity.  2 1 7 

of  fortune  with  which  work  has  nothing  to  do ;  and  if  the 
Duke  found  a  better  Greek  scholar  than  himself,  or  a  better 
man  of  business,  he  had  that  kind  of  hearty  and  intelligent 
respect  for  him  which  is  yielded  only  by  real  workmen  to 
their  superiors.  Indeed  he  had  true  respect  for  excellence 
of  all  kinds,  and  was  incomparably  more  human,  more  capa- 
ble of  taking  an  interest  in  men  and  of  understanding  them, 
than  the  supercilious  young  gentleman  his  son. 

Amongst  our  acquaintances  at  this  great  and  brilliant 
feast  are  the  worthy  incumbent  of  Shayton  and  his  wife, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prigley.  Whilst  we  were  occupied  with  the 
graver  matters  which  affected  so  seriously  the  history  of 
Philip  Stanburne,  Lady  Helena  had  been  to  Shayton  and 
called  upon  Mrs.  Prigley,  and  after  that  they  had  been 
invited  to  the  great  festivities  at  Wenderholme.  It  was  kind 
of  Lady  Helena,  when  the  house  was  so  full  that  she  hardly 
knew  where  to  lodge  more  distinguished  guests,  to  give  the 
Prigleys  one  of  her  best  bedrooms ;  but  she  did  so,  and 
treated  them  with  perfect  tact  and  delicacy,  trying  to  make 
them  feel  like  near  relations  with  whom  intercourse  had 
never  been  suspended.  Mrs.  Prigley  was  the  exact  opposite 
of  a  woman  of  the  world,  having  about  as  much  experience 
of  society  as  a  girl  of  nine  years  old  who  is  receiving  a 
private  education  ;  yet  her  manners  were  very  good,  except 
so  far  as  she  was  too  deferential,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
she  was  a  lady,  though  a  lady  who  had  led  a  very  retired 
life.  Mrs.  Prigley  had  never  travelled  more  than  twenty 
miles  from  her  two  homes,  Byfield  and  Shayton,  since  she 
was  born ;  she  had  read  nothing  —  she  had  no  time  for  read- 
ing —  and  the  wonder  is  how,  under  these  circumstances, 
she  could  be  so  nice  and  lady-like  as  she  was,  so  perfectly 
free  from  all  taint  of  vulgarity.  The  greatest  evil  which 
attends  ladies  like  Mrs.  Prigley,  when  they  do  go  into  soci- 
ety, is,  that  they  sometimes  feel  obliged  to  tell  white  lies, 
and  that  these  white  lies  occasionally  lead  them  into  embar- 


2 1 8  Wendcrholme.  Part  i. 

rassment.  Mrs.  Prigley  nev^er  frankly  and  simply  avowed  her 
ignorance  when  she  thought  it  would  not  be  conime  il  faict  to 
be  ignorant.  For  -instance,  if  you  asked  her  whether  she 
had  read  some  book,  or  heard  some  piece  of  music,  she 
always  answered  with  incredible  temerity  in  the  affirmative. 
If  your  subsequent  remarks  called  for  no  further  display  of 
knowledge  it  was  well  —  she  felt  that  she  had  bravely  acted 
her  part,  and  not  been  behind  the  age  ;  but  if  in  your  inno- 
cence or  in  your  malice  (for  now  and  then  a  malicious 
person  found  her  out  and  tormented  her)  you  went  into 
detail,  asking  what  she  thought,  for  instance,  of  Becky  Sharp 
in  "  Vanity  Fair,"  she  might  be  ultimately  compelled  to  avow 
that  though  she  had  read  "Vanity  Fair"  she  didn't  remember 
Becky.  Thus  she  placed  herself  in  most  uncomfortable  situ- 
ations, having  the  courage  to  run  perpetual  risks  of  detection, 
but  not  the  courage  to  admit  her  ignorance  of  any  thing 
which  she  imagined  that  a  lady  ought  to  know.  When  she 
had  once  affirmed  her  former  knowledge  of  any  thing,  she 
stuck  to  it  with  astonishing  hardihood,  and  accused  the 
imperfection  of  her  memory  —  one  of  her  worst  fibs,  for 
her  memory  was  excellent. 

The  conversation  at  a  great  banquet  is  never  so  pleasant 
as  that  at  a  table  small  enough  for  everybody  to  hear  every- 
body else,  and  the  only  approach  to  a  general  exchange  of 
opinion  on  any  single  topic  which  occurred  on  the  present 
occasion  was  about  the  house  in  which  the  entertainment 
was  given.  The  Duke  had  never  been  to  Wenderholme  be- 
fore, and  during  a  lull  in  the  conversation  his  eye  wandered 
over  the  wainscot  opposite  to  him.  It  had  been  painted 
white,  but  the  carved  panels  still  left  their  designs  clearly 
visible  under  the  paint. 

"  What  a  noble  room  this  is.  Lady  Helena  !  "  he  said  ; 
"but  it  is  rather  a  pity  —  don't  you  think  so?  —  that  those 
beautiful  panels  should  have  been  painted.  It  was  done,  no 
doubt,  in  the  last  century." 


Chap.  XXV.       Wcnderholine  in  Festivity.  1 1 9 

"Yes,  we  regret  very  much  that  the  house  should  have 
been  modernized.     We  have  some  intention  of  restoring  it." 

"  Glad  to  hear  that  —  very  glad  to  hear  that.  I  envy  you 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  all  these  beautiful  things  come  to  light 
again.  I  wish  I  had  a  place  to  restore,  Lady  Helena ;  but 
those  delights  are  over  for  me,  and  I  can  only  hope  to 
experience  them  afresh  by  taking  an  interest  in  the  doings 
of  my  friends.  I  had  a  capital  place  for  restoration  formerly 
—  an  old  Gothic  house  not  much  spoiled  by  the  Renaissance, 
but  overlaid  by  much  incongruous  modern  work.  So  I  deter- 
mined to  restore  it,  and  for  nearly  four  years  it  was  the 
pleasantest  hobby  that  a  man  could  have.  It  turned  out 
rather  an  expensive  hobby,  though,  but  I  economized  in  some 
other  directions,  and  did  what  seemed  to  be  necessary." 

"  Does  your  Grace  allude  to  Varolby  Priory  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Prigley,  timidly. 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  yes.     Do  you  know  Varolby  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  there,  but  I  have  seen  the  beautiful 
album  of  illustrations  of  the  architectural  details  which  was 
engraved  by  your  directions." 

Mrs.  Prigley  was  within  hearing,  and  thinking  that  it 
would  be  well  not  to  be  behind  her  husband,  said,  "  Oh  yes ; 
what  a  beautiful  book  it  was !  "  The  Duke  turned  towards 
Mrs.  Prigley,  and  made  her  a  slight  bow  ;  then  he  asked  in 
his  innocence,  and  merely  to  say  something,  "whether  the 
copy  which  Mrs.  Prigley  had  seen  was  a  colored  one  or  a 
plain  one  ? " 

"  Oh,  it  was  colored,"  she  answered,  without  hesitation  — 
"  beautifully  colored  !  " 

This  was  Mrs.  Prigley's  way — she  waited  for  the  sugges- 
tions of  her  interlocutor,  and  on  hearing  a  thing  which  was 
as  new  to  her  as  the  kernel  of  a  nut  just  cracked,  assented 
to  it  with  the  tone  of  a  person  to  whom  it  was  already 
familiar.  So  clever  had  she  become  by  practice  in  this  arti- 
fice, that  she  conveyed  the  impression  that  nothing  could  be 


220  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

new  to  her  ;  and  the  people  who  talked  with  her  had  no  idea 
that  it  was  themselves  who  supplied,  h  mesure,  all  the  informa- 
tion wherewith  she  met  them,  and  kept  up  the  conversation. 
She  had  never  heard  of  Varolby  Priory  before — she  had 
never  heard  of  the  album  of  engravings  before  —  and  there- 
fore it  is  superfluous  to  add  that,  as  to  colored  copies  or 
plain  ones,  she  was  equally  unacquainted  with  either.  Mrs. 
Prigley  had  however  gone  a  step  too  far  in  this  instance,  for 
the  Duke  immediately  replied,  — 

"  Ah,  then,  I  know  that  you  are  a  friend  of  my  old  friend, 
Sir  Archibald.  You  wonder  how  I  guessed  it,  perhaps? 
It 's  because  there  are  only  two  colored  copies  of  the  album 
in  existence  —  my  own  copy  and  his." 

Mrs.  Prigley  tried  to  put  on  an  agreeable  expression  of  as- 
sent, intended  to  imply  that  she  knew  Sir  Archibald  (though 
as  yet  ignorant  of  Sir  Archibald's  surname),  when  her  husband 
interposed.  She  made  him  feel  anxious  and  fidgety.  He 
always  knew  when  she  was  telling  her  little  fibs  —  he  knew 
it  by  a  certain  facile  suavity  in  her  tone,  which  would  not 
have  been  detected  by  a  stranger. 

"The  old  mural  paintings  must  be  very  interesting,"  said 
the  incumbent  of  Shayton,  and  by  this  skilful  diversion  saved 
his  wife  from  imminent  exposure. 

"Most  interesting — most  interesting:  they  were  found 
in  a  wonderful  state  of  preservation  under  many  layers  of 
whitewash  in  the  chapel.  And  do  you  know,  apropos  of  your 
carved  panels.  Lady  Helena,  we  found  such  glorious  old 
wainscot  round  a  room  that  had  been  lined  with  lath  and 
plaster  afterwards,  and  decorated  with  an  abominably  ugly 
paper.  Not  one  panel  was  injured  —  really  not  one  panel! 
and  the  designs  carved  upon  them  are  so  very  elegant!  That 
wis  one  of  the  best  finds  we  made." 

"  I  should  think  it  very  probable,"  said  Mr.  Prigley,  "  that 
discoveries  would  be  made  at  VVenderholme  if  a  thorough 
restoration  were  undertaken," 


Chap.  XXV.      WeiiderJwlme  in  Festivity.  221 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  the  Duke,  "  and  there  is 
nothing  so  interesting.  Even  the  workmen  come  to  take 
an  interest  in  all  they  bring  to  light.  Our  workmen  were 
quite  proud  when  they  found  any  thing,  and  so  careful  not 
to  injure  what  they  found.  Do  induce  your  husband  to 
restore  Wenderholme,  Lady  Helena ;  it  would  make  such 
a  magnificent  place  !  " 

This  talk  about  Wenderholme  and  restoration  had  gradu- 
ally reached  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and  John  Stanburne, 
feeling  no  doubt  rather  a  richer  and  greater  personage  that 
evening  than  usual,  being  surrounded  by  more  than  common 
splendor,  announced  his  positive  resolution  to  restore  the 
Hall  thoroughly.  "  It  was  lamentable,"  he  said,  "  perfectly 
lamentable,  that  the  building  should  have  been  so  meta- 
morphosed by  his  grandfather.  But  it  was  not  altogether 
past  mending ;  and  architects,  you  know,  understand  old 
Elizabethan  buildings  so  much  better  than  they  used  to  do." 

It  was  a  delicious  evening,  soft  and  calm,  without  either 
the  chills  of  earlier  spring  or  the  sultriness  of  the  really  hot 
weather.  When  the  ladies  had  left  the  room,  and  the  gentle- 
men had  sat  long  enough  to  drink  the  moderate  quantity  of 
wine  which  men  consume  in  these  days  of  sobriety,  the 
Colonel  proposed  that  they  should  all  go  and  smoke  in  the 
garden.  There  was  a  very  large  lawn,  and  there  were  a 
great  many  garden-chairs  about,  so  the  smokers  soon  formed 
themselves  into  a  cluster  of  little  groups.  The  whole  lawn 
was  as  light  as  day,  for  the  front  of  the  Hall  was  illumi- 
nated, and  hundreds  of  little  glow-worm  lamps  lay  scattered 
amongst  the  flowers.  The  Colonel  had  managed  to  organize 
a  regimental  band,  which,  being  composed  of  tolerably  good 
musicians  from  Shayton  and  Sootythorn  (both  musical  places, 
but  especially  Shayton),  had  been  rapidly  brought  into  work- 
ing order  by  an  intelligent  bandmaster.  This  band  had  been 
stationed  somewhere  in  the  garden,  and  began  to  fill  the 
woods  of  Wenderholme  with  its  martial  strains. 


2  22  Wcnderholme.  Part  i. 

"Upon  my  word,  Colonel,"  said  the  Duke,  stirring  his  cup 
of  coffee,  "  you  do  things  very  admirably ;  I  have  seen  many 
houses  illuminated,  but  I  think  I  never  saw  one  illuminated 
so  well  as  Wenderholme  is  to-night.  Every  feature  of  the 
building  is  brought  into  its  due  degree  of  prominence.  All 
that  rich  central  projection  over  the  porch  is  splendid  !  A 
less  intelligent  illuminator  would  have  sacrificed  all  those 
fine  deep  shadows  in  the  recesses  of  the  sculpture,  which 
add  so  much  to  the  effect." 

"  My  wife  has  arranged  all  about  these  matters,"  said  John 
Stanburnej  "she  has  better  taste  than  I  have,  and  more 
knowledge.     I  always  leave  these  things  to  her." 

"  Devilish  clever  woman  that  Lady  Helena  !  "  thought  his 
Grace  ;  but  he  did  not  say  it  exactly  in  that  way. 

"  All  these  sash-windows  must  be  very  recent.  Last  cent- 
ury, probably  —  eighteenth  century;  very  sad  that  eighteenth 
century  —  wisii  it  had  never  existed,  only  don't  see  how  we 
should  have  got  into  the  nineteenth !  " 

The  Colonel  laughed.  "  Very  difficult,"  he  said,  "  to  get  into 
a  nineteenth  century  without  passing  through  an  eighteenth 
century  of  some  sort." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  of  course  ;  but  I  don't  mean  merely  in 
the  sense  of  numbei"s,  you  know  —  in  the  arithmetical  sense 
of  eighteen  and  nineteen.  I  mean,  that  seeing  how  very 
curiously  people's  minds  seem  to  be  generally  constituted, 
it  does  not  seem  probable  that  they  could  ever  have  reached 
the  ideas  of  the  nineteenth  century  without  passing  through 
the  ideas  of  the  eighteenth.  But  what  a  pity  it  is  they  were 
such  destructive  ideas  !  The  people  of  the  eighteenth  century 
seem  to  have  destroyed  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  destroying. 
Only  fancy  the  barbarism  of  my  forefathers  at  Varolby,  who 
actually  covered  the  most  admirable  old  wainscot  in  the 
world,  full  of  the  most  delicate,  graceful,  and  exquisite  work, 
with  lath  and  plaster,  and  a  hideous  paper !  They  preferred 
the  paper,  you  see,  to  the  wainscot." 


Chap.  XXV.      Weiiderkolme  in  Festivity.  223 

"  Perhaps  paper  happened  to  be  more  in  the  fashion,  and 
the}'  did  not  care  about  either.  My  grandfather  did  not 
leave  the  wainscot,  however,  under  the  paper.  At  least,  he 
must  have  removed  a  great  deal  of  it.  There  is  an  immense 
lot  of  old  carved  work  that  he  removed  from  the  walls  and 
rooms  in  a  lumber-garret  at  the  top  of  the  house." 

"  Is  there  though,  really  1 "  said  the  Duke,  with  much 
eagerness;  then  you  must  let  me  see  it  to-morrow  —  you 
must  indeed  ;  nothing  would  interest  me  more." 

Just  then  a  white  stream  of  ladies  issued  from  the  illu- 
minated porch,  and  flowed  down  the  broad  stairs.  Their 
diamonds  glittered  in  the  light,  flashing  visibly  to  a  consider- 
able distance.     They  came  slowly  forward  to  the  lawn. 

"  I  think  it  is  time  to  have  the  fireworks  now,"  said  Lady 
Helena  to  the  Colonel. 

The  Colonel  called  the  officers  about  him,  whilst  the  other 
gentlemen  began  to  talk  to  the  ladies.  "  It  would  prevent 
confusion,"  he  said,  "if  we  were  to  muster  the  men  properly 
to  see  the  fireworks.  I  should  like  them  to  have  good  places  ; 
but  there  is  some  chance,  you  know,  that  they  might  damage 
things  in  the  garden  unless  they  come  in  military  order. 
There  are  already  great  numbers  of  people  in  the  park,  and  I 
think  it  would  be  better  to  keep  our  men  separate  from  the 
crowd  as  much  as  possible."  Horses  were  brought  for  the 
Colonel  and  other  field-officers,  and  they  rode  to  the  camp, 
the  others  following  on  foot.  Transparencies  had  been  set 
up  at  different  parts  of  the  garden,  with  the  numbers  of  the 
companies ;  and  the  arrangements  had  been  so  perfectly 
made,  that  in  less  than  twenty  minutes  every  company  was  at 
its  appointed  place. 

No  private  individual  in  John  Stanburne's  position  could 
afford  a  display  of  pyrotechnics  sufficient  to  astonish  such 
experienced  people  as  his  noble  guests  ;  but  Lady  Helena 
and  the  pyrotechnician,  or  "  firework-man,"  as  her  ladyship 
more  simply  called  him,  had  planned  something  quite  suffi 


224  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

ciently  effective.  He  and  his  assistants  were  on  the  roof  of 
the  Hall,  where  temporary  platforms  and  railings  had  been 
set  up  in  different  places  for  their  accommodation  ;  and  the 
floods  of  fire  that  soon  issued  therefrom  astonished  many  of 
the  spectators,  especially  Mrs.  Prigley.  And  yet  when  a  per- 
fectly novel  device  was  displayed,  which  the  "  firework-man  " 
had  invented  for  the  occasion,  and  Lady  Helena  asked  Mrs. 
Prigley  what  she  thought  of  it,  that  lady  averred  that  she  had 
seen  it  before,  in  some  former  state  of  existence,  and  had 
"always  thought  it  very  beautiful." 

Suddenly  these  words,  "  The  Fiery  Niagara,"  shone  in 
great  burning  letters  along  the  front  of  the  house,  and  then 
an  immense  cascade  of  fire  poured  over  the  roof  in  all  direc- 
tions, and  hid  Wenderholme  Hall  as  completely  as  the  rock 
is  hidden  where  the  real  Niagara  thunders  into  its  abyss.  At 
the  same  time  trees  of  green  fire  burned  on  the  sides  of  the 
flowing  river,  and  their  boughs  seemed  to  dip  in  its  rushing 
gold,  as  the  boughs  of  the  sycamores  bend  over  the  swift- 
flowing  water.  And  behind  the  edge  of  the  great  cascade 
rose  slowly  a  great  round  moon. 


Chap.  XXVI.  More  Fireworks.  225 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

MORE    FIREWORKS. 

AFTER  the  fiery  cascade  came  the  bouquet ;  and  the  fire- 
works ended  with  a  prodigious  sheaf  of  rockets,  which 
made  the    country  people  think  that  the  stars  were  falling. 

Though  the  Hall  was  still  illuminated,  it  looked  poorer 
after  the  brilliant  pyrotechnics  ;  and  as  this  diminution  of  its 
effect  had  been  foreseen,  arrangements  had  been  made  be- 
forehand to  cheer  the  minds  of  the  guests  at  the  critical  mo- 
ment by  a  compensation.  The  Venetian  lanterns  had  been 
reserved  till  now,  and  the  band  had  been  silent  during  the 
fireworks.  A  large  flat  space  on  the  lawn  had  been  sur- 
rounded by  masts  with  banners,  and  from  mast  to  mast  hung 
large  festoons  of  greenery,  and  from  the  festoons  hung  the 
many-colored  lanterns.  A  platform  had  been  erected  at  one 
end  for  the  band  j  and  before  the  last  rocket-constellation 
had  burst  into  momentary  splendor,  and  been  extinguished  as 
it  fell  towards  the  earth,  the  lanterns  were  all  burning,  and 
the  band  playing  merrily.  Before  and  during  the  fireworks 
the  company  had  been  considerably  increased  by  arrivals 
from  neighboring  villages  and  the  houses  of  the  smaller  gen- 
try, so  Lady  Helena  passed  the  word  that  there  would  be  a 
diince  in  the  space  that  was  enclosed  by  the  lanterns. 

It  had  been  part  of  our  friend  Philip  Stanburne's  duty  to 
march  to  Wenderholme  with  his  company,  and  to  dine  with 
the  Colonel  in  the  Hall  ;  but  in  his  present  moody  and  mel- 
ancholy temper  he  found  it  impossible  to  carry  complaisance 
so  far  as  to  whirl  about  in  a  waltz  with  some  young  lady  whom 


2  26  Wender holme.  tart  i. 

he  had  never  before  seen.  There  was  nobody  there  that  he 
knew;  and  when  Lady  Helena  kindly  offered  to  introduce 
him  to  a  partner,  his  refusal  was  so  very  decided  that  it 
seemed  almost  wanting  in  politeness.  The  Colonel  had  not 
mentioned  Philip's  love-affair  to  her  ladyship,  for  reasons 
which  the  reader  will  scarcely  need  to  have  explained  to  him. 
People  who  have  lived  together  for  some  years  generally  know 
pretty  well  what  each  will  think  and  say  about  a  subject  be- 
fore it  has  been  the  subject  of  open  conversation  between 
them  ;  and  since  Philip  Stanburne  was  now  treated  as  a  near 
relation  at  Wenderholme,  it  was  clear  that  her  ladyship  would 
be  a  good  deal  put  out  if  she  heard  of  his  intended  misalli- 
ance. The  Colonel  himself  was  by  no  means  democratic  in 
his  aboriginal  instincts  ;  but  after  his  experience  of  married 
life,  the  one  quality  in  Lady  Helena  which  he  would  most 
willingly  have  done  without  was  her  rank,  with  its  concomi- 
tant inconveniences.  He  did  not  now  feel  merely  indifferent 
to  rank,  he  positively  disliked  it ;  and  with  his  present  views, 
Alice  Stedman's  humble  origin  seemed  a  guarantee  of  immu- 
nity from  many  of  the  perils  which  were  most  dangerous  to 
his  own  domestic  peace.  But  Lady  Helena  (as  he  felt  in- 
stinctively, without  needing  to  give  to  his  thought  the  con- 
sistency of  words  and  phrases)  was  still  in  that  state  of  mind 
which  is  natural  to  every  one  who  is  born  with  the  advantages 
of  rank  —  the  state  of  mind  which  values  rank  too  highly  to 
sacrifice  it  willingly,  or  to  see  any  relation  sacrifice  it  withou< 
protesting  against  his  folly.  Hers  would  be  the  natural  and 
rational  view  of  the  matter  ;  the  common-sense  view  ,  the 
view  which  in  all  classes  who  have  rank  of  any  sort  to  main- 
tain (and  what  class  has  not  ?)  has  ever  been  recognized,  has 
ever  persisted  and  prevailed.  The  Colonel  did  not  go  so  far 
a  .  to  wish  that  he  had  married  some  other  person  of  humble 
provincial  rank  ;  but  he  often  wished  that  Lady  Helena  her- 
self had  been  the  daughter  of  some  small  squire,  or  country 
clergyman,  or  cotton-spinner,  if  he  had   brought  her  up  as 


Chap.  XXVI.  Moi^e  Fii^eworks.  227 

nicely  as  Alice  Stedman  had  been  brought  up.  It  was  not  to 
be  expected  that  she  could  ever  share  this  opinion  about  her- 
self, or  the  opinion  about  Alice  Stedman,  which  was  merely  a 
reflection  of  it. 

Owing  to  Philip  Stanburne's  exile  at  Whittlecup,  which  had 
continued  during  the  whole  of  the  training,  and  to  his  natural 
shyness  and  timidity,  which  the  extreme  reclusion  of  his  ex- 
istence had  allowed  to  become  the  permanent  habit  of  his 
nature,  he  had  made  few  acquaintances  amongst  the  officers, 
and  not  one  friend.  There  were  several  men  in  the  regiment 
to  know  whom  would  have  done  Philip  Stanburne  a  great 
deal  of  good,  but  he  missed  the  opportunities  which  presented 
themselves.  For  instance,  on  the  present  occasion,  though 
several  of  his  brother  officers,  who,  like  himself,  were  not 
dancing,  had  gathered  into  a  little  group,  Philip  Stanburne 
avoided  the  group,  and  walked  away  by  himself  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  great  dark  wood.  He  felt  the  necessity  for  a  little 
solitude  ;  he  had  not  been  by  himself  during  the  whole  day, 
and  it  was  now  nearly  midnight.  A  man  who  is  accustomed 
to  be  alone  will  steal  out  in  that  way  from  society  to  refresh 
himself  in  the  loneliness  which  is  his  natural  element  — pour 
se  remettre,  as  a  Frenchman  would  express  it.  So  he  followed 
a  narrow  walk  that  led  into  the  wood,  and  soon  lost  sight  of 
the  illuminations,  whilst  the  music  became  gradually  fainter, 
and  at  last  was  confined  to  such  hints  of  the  nature  of  the 
melody  as  could  be  gathered  from  the  occasional  fortissimo 
of  a  trumpet  or  the  irregular  booming  of  a  drum. 

There  was,  as  the  reader  already  knows,  a  ravine  behind 
Wenderholme  Hall,  which  was  a  gash  in  the  great  hill  that 
divided  Wenderholme  from  Shayton.  All  this  ravine  was 
filled  with  a  thick  wood,  and  a  stream  came  down  the  middle 
of  it  from  the  moorland  above  —  a  little  noisy  stream  that 
tumbled  over  a  good  many  small  rocks,  and  made  some  cas- 
cades which  the  inhabitants  of  Wenderholme  showed  to  all 
their  visitors,  and  which  lady  visitors  often  more  or  less  sue- 


2  28  Wenderholme.  part  i. 

cessfully  sketched.  By  an  outlay  of  about  a  hundred  pounds, 
John  Stanburne's  grandfather  had  dammed  this  stream  up  in 
one  conveniently  narrow  place,  and  made  a  small  pond  there, 
and  the  walk  which  Philip  Stanburne  was  now  following 
skirted  the  stream  till  it  came  to  the  pond's  edge.  It  turned 
round  the  upper  end  of  the  tiny  lake,  and  crossed  the  stream 
where  it  entered  by  means  of  a  picturesque  wooden  bridge. 
From  this  bridge  the  Hall  might  be  distinctly  seen  in  the 
daytime  ;  and  Philip,  remembering  this,  or  perhaps  merely 
from  the  habit  of  looking  down  towards  the  Hall  when  he 
crossed  the  bridge,  stopped  and  looked,  as  if  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night  he  could  hope  to  distinguish  any  thing  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  which,  of  course,  was  not  illuminated. 

Not  illuminated  !  Why,  the  firework-men  have  applied  a 
more  effective  device  to  the  back  of  the  house  than  the  elab- 
orate illumination  of  the  front !  They  have  invented  a  curling 
luminous  cloud,  these  accomplished  pyrotechnicians  ! 

Philip  Stanburne  began  to  wonder  how  it  was  managed, 
and  to  speculate  on  the  probable  artifice.  Was  the  smoke 
produced  separately,  and  then  lighted  from  below,  or  was  it 
really  luminous  smoke  ?  However  produced,  the  effect  was 
an  admirable  one,  and  Philip  admired  it  accordingly.  *'  But 
it  is  odd,"  he  thought,  "  that  I  should  be  left  to  enjoy  it 
(probably)  by  myself.  It 's  not  likely  that  they  have  left 
their  dancing  —  I  'm  sure  they  haven't ;  I  can  hear  the  drum 
yet,  and  it 's  marking  the  time  of  a  waltz."  A  gentle  breeze 
came  towards  him,  and  rippled  the  surface  of  the  dark  water. 
It  brought  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  and  he  recognized  the 
air.     "They  are  waltzing  still,  no  doubt." 

The  luminous  smoke  still  rose  and  curled.  Then  a  red 
flash  glared  in  it  for  an  instant,  "  Those  are  not  fire- 
works," said  Philip  Stanburne,  aloud ;  "  Wenderholme  Hall 
is  on  fire  I " 


Chap.  XXVII.  The  Fire.  2  2q 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE   FIRE. 

WHY,  Philip,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I  didn't  know  that 
you  'd  been  dancing.  You  've  been  over-exerting 
yourself.  You  look  tremendously  hot,  and  very  much  out  of 
breath." 

"  Young  fellahs  will  dance,  you  know.  Colonel,"  said  the 
General  with  the  ladders  of  clasps  —  "young  fellahs  will; 
I  envy  them  !  " 

"Where  is  Edith  —  your  daughter  —  little  Edith?"  Philip 
asked,  with  a  scared  and  anxious  face. 

"  In  bed,  of  course,  at  this  time  of  night.  You  don't  want 
to  dance  with  her,  a  small  child  like  her?"  Then  fixing  his 
eyes  on  Philip  Stanburne's  face,  the  Colonel  exclaimed, 
grasping  his  arm  so  strongly  as  to  cause  pain.  "  Something 
is  wrong,  by  Jove  !  out  with  it,  out  with  it !  " 

"  Where  's  Edith's  room  ?  the  house  is  on  fire  !  " 

John  Stanburne  said  nothing,  but  turned  at  once  with  swift 
steps  towards  the  house.  Philip  followed  him  closely :  they 
entered  by  the  great  doorway  under  the  porch,  and  passed 
rapidly  across  the  hall.  It  was  quiet  and  empty,  lighted  by  a 
few  lamps  suspended  from  the  ceiling  by  long  crimson  cords 
—  the  portraits  of  the  old  fox-hunting  Stanburnes  looking 
down  with  their  usual  healthy  self-possession.  The  door 
from  the  hall  to  the  staircase  was  closed :  when  the  Colonel 
opened  it,  a  smell  of  burning  became  for  the  first  time  per- 
ceptible. He  took  four  steps  at  a  time.  Edith's  rooms  were 
nearly  at  the  top  of  the  house.     The  nurseries  had  been  up 


230  Wenderkolme.  p^rt  i. 

there  traditionally,  because  that  situation  kept  noisy  children 
well  out  of  the  way  of  guests. 

Wenderholme  was  a  lofty  house,  with  a  long  lateral  corri- 
dor on  each  story.  As  they  ascended,  the  smell  of  burning 
strongly  increased.  The  lower  corridors  were  lighted  —  all 
the  guests'  rooms  were  there.  But  the  uppermost  corridor, 
where  the  servants'  rooms  and  the  nurseries  were,  was  not 
permanently  lighted,  as  the  sen'ants  took  their  own  bed- 
candlesticks  from  below.  When  the  Colonel  got  there  he 
could  not  see,  and  he  could  not  breathe.  Volumes  of  dense 
smoke  rolled  along  the  dark  passages.  He  ran  blindly  in 
the  direction  of  Edith's  room.  Philip  tried  to  follow,  but 
the  suffocating  atmosphere  affected  his  more  delicate  organ- 
ization with  tenfold  force,  and  he  was  compelled  to  draw 
back.  He  stood  on  the  top  of  the  great  staircase,  agitated 
by  mortal  anxiety. 

But  the  Colonel  himself,  strong  as  he  was,  could  not 
breathe  that  atmosphere  for  long.  He  came  back  out  of  the 
darkness,  his  hands  over  his  face.  Even  on  the  staircase 
the  air  was  stifling,  but  to  him,  who  had  breathed  thick  fire, 
it  was  comparative  refreshment.  He  staggered  forward  to 
the  banister,  and  grasped  it.  This  for  three  or  four  seconds, 
then  he  ran  down  the  stairs  without  uttering  one  word. 

The  two  passed  swiftly  through  a  complicated  set  of  pas- 
sages on  the  ground-floor  and  reached  one  of  the  minor 
staircases,  of  which  there  were  five  or  six  at  Wenderholme. 
This  one  led  directly  to  the  nurseries  above,  and  was  their 
most  commonly  used  access.  When  they  came  to  this,  John 
Stanburne  turned  round,  paused  for  an  instant,  and  said, 
"  Come  with  me,  Philip ;  it 's  our  last  chance.  Poor  little 
Edith  !  O  God,  O  God  !  " 

In  this  narrow  stair  there  was  no  light  whatever.  The 
Colonel  ran  up  it,  or  leaped  up  it,  in  a  series  of  wild  bounds, 
like  a  hunted  animal.  Philip  kept  up  with  him  as  he  could. 
As    they  rose    higher   and    higher    the    temperature  quickly 


Chap.  XXVII.  The  Fire,  .  231 

increased :  the  walls  were  hot  —  it  was  the  temperature  of 
a  heated  oven.  The  Colonel  tried  to  open  a  door,  but  the 
brass  handle  burnt  his  hand.  Then  he  burst  it  open  by 
pushing  against  it  with  his  shoulder.  A  gust  of  air  rushed 
up  the  staircase,  and  in  an  instant  the  room  they  were  trying 
to  enter  was  illuminated  by  a  burst  of  flame.  For  a  second 
the  paper  was  visible  —  a  pretty,  gay  paper,  with  tiny  flowers, 
suitable  for  a  young  girl's  room  —  and  a  few  engravings  on 
the  walls,  and  the  pink  curtains  of  a  little  French  bed. 

Either  by  one  of  those  unaccountable  presentiments  which 
sometimes  hold  us  back  at  the  moment  of  imminent  danger, 
or  else  from  horror  at  the  probable  fate  of  little  Edith,  the 
Colonel  paused  on  the  threshold  of  the  burning  room.  Then 
the  ceiling  cracked  from  end  to  end,  and  fiery  rafters,  with 
heaps  of  other  burning  wood,  came  crashing  down  together. 
The  heat  was  now  absolutelv  intolerable  —  to  remain  on  the 
threshold  was  death,  and  the  two  went  down  the  stairs. 
There  was  a  strong  draught  in  the  staircase,  which  revived 
them  physically,  and  notwithstanding  the  extremity  of  his 
mental  anguish,  the  Colonel  descended  with  a  steady  step. 
When  they  came  into  the  lighted  hall  he  stood  still,  and  then 
broke  into  stifled,  passionate  sobs.  "  Edith  !  little  Edith  !  " 
he  cried,  "burnt  to  death!  horrible!  horrible!"  Then  he 
turned  to  his  companion  with  such  an  expression  on  his  white 
face  as  the  other  had  never  before  seen  there.  "  And,  Philip, 
the  people  were  dancing  on  the  lawn  !  " 

Then  John  Stauburne  sat  down  in  one  of  the  chairs  against 
the  wall,  and  set  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  covered  his 
face  with  both  his  hands.  So  he  sat,  immovable.  The  house 
was  burning  above  him  —  it  might  burn.  What  were  all  the 
treasures  of  Wenderholme  to  its  master,  who  had  lost  the 
one  treasure  of  his  heart  ?  What  were  the  parchments  and 
the  seals  in  the  charter-room — ^what  were  the  records  of  the 
Stanburnes  —  what  was  that  waggon-load  of  massive  silver 
which  had  shone  at  the  festival  that  night.'' 


2  2,2  Wenderholme.  Part  i 

His  anguish  was  not  wild  —  he  did  not  become  frantic  — 
and  the  shock  had  not  produced  any  benumbing  insensi 
bihty;  for  his  health  was  absolutely  sound  and  strong,  and 
his  nervous  system  perfectly  whole  and  unimpaired.  But 
the  sound  mind  in  the  sound  body  is  still  capable  of  an 
exquisite  intensity  of  suffering,  though  it  will  live  through 
it  without  either  madness  or  insensibility. 

Philip  Stanburne  felt  compelled  to  respect  this  bitter  agony 
of  his  friend  \  but  he  was  anxious  to  lose  no  more  time  in  try- 
ing to  save  the  house.  So  at  last  he  said,  "  Colonel,  the  house 
is  burning !  " 

John  Stanburne  looked  up,  and  said,  "It  may  burn  now  — 
it  may  burn  now."  Then  suddenly  seeming  to  recollect  him- 
self, he  added,  "  God  forgive  me,  Philip,  I  have  not  bestowed 
one  thought  on  the  poor  girl  that  was  burnt  with  Edith  — 
Edith's  maid  !  She  brought  my  child  to  me  to  say  good- 
night, just  when  the  fireworks  were  over,  and  kiss  me  "  — 
here  his  voice  faltered  — "  and  kiss  me  for  the  last  time.' 
This  extension  of  his  sympathy  to  another  did  John  Stan- 
burne good.  "  I  wonder  where  her  parents  are  ;  they  must  be 
told  — God  help  them  !" 

"  And  the  house,  Colonel !  —  the  house  !  can  you  give  some 
orders  ? " 

"No,  Philip;  not  fit  for  that  —  not  fit  for  that  yet, 
you  know,  dear  Philip.  Ask  Eureton,  the  Adjutant  —  ask 
Eureton." 

Then  he  rose  suddenly,  and  went  towards  the  drawing- 
room.  Some  of  the  older  ladies  had  come  in,  and  were  sit- 
ting here  and  there  about  the  room,  which  was  brilliantly 
lighted.  On  one  of  the  ^^Jalls  hung  a  portrait  of  Edith  Stan- 
burne, by  Millais  —  one  of  his  most  successful  pictures  of 
that  class.'  The  Colonel  went  straight  to  this  picture,  but 
could  not  politely  get  at  it  without  begging  two  old  ladies, 
who  were  sitting  on  a  causeuse  under  it,  to  get  out  of  his  way. 

When  a  man  who  has   just  been  brought  face  to  face  with 


Chap.  XXVII.  The  Fire.  233 

one  of  the  tragical  realities  of  life  comes  into  what  is  called 
"society"  again,  he  is  always  out  of  tune  with  it,  and  it  is 
difficult  for  him  to  accept  the  legerete  of  its  manner  without 
some  degree  of  irritation.  He  appears  brutal  to  the  people 
in  society,  and  the  people  in  society  seem  exasperatingly  friv- 
olous to  him.  Thus,  when  the  Colonel  came  amongst  these 
bediamonded  old  ladies  in  the  drawing-room,  a  conversation 
took  place  which  he  was  not  quite  sufficiently  master  of  him- 
self to  maintain  in  its  original  key. 

"  Ah,  here  is  Colonel  Stanburne  !  We  were  just  saying 
how  delightful  your  fireworks  were  ;  only  they  've  left  quite  a 
strong  smell  of  fire,  even  in  the  house  itself.  Don't  you  per- 
ceive it.  Colonel  Stanburne  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  get  this  picture  —  excuse  me,"  and  he  began  to 
put  his  foot  on  the  white  silk  damask  of  the  causeuse,  between 
the  two  great  ladies.  They  rose  immediately,  much  aston- 
ished, even  visibly  offended. 

"  Colonel  Stanburne  might  have  waited  until  we  had  left 
the  room,"  said  Lady  Brabazon,  aloud,  "  if  he  wished  to 
.change  the  hanging  of  his  pictures." 

"The  house  is  on  fire  !  My  daughter  is  burnt  to  death  ! 
I  want  to  save  this.  You  ladies  are  still  in  time  to  save  the 
originals  of  your  portraits." 

In  an  instant  they  were  out  upon  the  lawn,  running  about 
and  calling  out  "  Fire  !  "  They  had  not  time  to  take  care  of 
their  dignity  now. 

Luckily  Philip  Stanburne  was  already  with  the  Adjutant, 
who  was  giving  his  orders  with  perfect  calm,  and  an  authority 
that  made  itself  obeyed.     Lady  Helena  was  not  to  be  found. 

Fyser  had  been  summoned  into  the  Adjutant's  presence. 
*'  Fyser,"  he  said,  "  what  are  the  water  supplies  here  ?  " 

"  Pump-water,  sir,  for  drinking,  and  the  stream  behind  the 
house  for  washing." 

"  No  pipes  of  any  sort  in  the  upper  rooms  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 


2  34  Wender holme.  part  i. 

"  Sergeant  Maxwell,  collect  all  the  men  who  have  served 
in  the  army.  I  don't  want  any  others  at  present."  Then, 
turning  to  Fyser,  "  Harness  four  horses  to  a  carriage,  and 
drive  to  the  nearest  station.  Telegraph  for  fire-engines  and 
a  special  locomotive.  Whilst  they  are  coming,  collect  more 
horses  near  the  station.  When  they  arrive,  leave  your  car- 
nage there,  and  harness  your  team  to  a  fire-engine,  and  come 
here  as  fast  as  you  can.  Do  you  hear  ?  Repeat  what  I  have 
said  to  you.     Very  well." 

Then  he  walked  quickly  towards  the  band,  and  made  signs 
to  the  band-master  to  stop.  The  music  ceased  abruptly,  and 
Captain  Eureton  ascended  the  platform.  "  I  wish  to  be 
heard  !  "  he  said,  in  a  loud  voice.  The  dancers  gave  up  their 
dancing,  and  came  towards  the  orchestra,  followed  by  the 
other  guests. 

"  Excuse  this  interruption  to  your  pleasures.  You  had 
better  not  go  into  the  Hall." 

At  this  instant  the  old  ladies  (as  has  just  been  narrated) 
came  out  of  the  hall-door  shrieking,  "  Fire  !  "  Their  cry  was 
taken  up  immediately,  and  wildly  repeated  amongst  the  crowd. 

"  Silence  !  "  shouted  Eureton,  with  authority.  "  Silence  ! 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

The  people  crowded  round  him.  "  The  Colonel  wishes  me 
to  act  for  him.  Our  only  chance  of  saving  the  house  is  to 
set  to  work  systematically.  I  forbid  any  one  to  enter  it  for 
the  present." 

"  But  my  trunks,"  cried  Lady  Brabazon  ;  "  I  will  order  my 
people  to  save  my  trunks  !  " 

This  raised  a  laugh  ;  but  Eureton's  answer  to  it  came  in 
the  shape  of  an  order.  "  Sergeant  Maxwell,"  he  said,  "  if 
any  one  attempts  to  enter  the  house  without  leave,  you  will 
have   him  arrested." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  sergeant  was  there  with  a  body  of  about  forty  old 
soldiers. 


Chap.  XXVII.  The  Fire.  235 

"  Captains  of  numbers  one,  two,  three,  four,  and  five  com- 
panies !  "  shouted  the  Adjutant.  They  came  forward.  "  You 
will  form  a  cordon  with  your  men  round  the  front  of  the  house, 
and  prevent  any  unauthorized  person  from  breaking  it.  All 
who  enter  the  cordon  will  be  considered  as  volunteers,  and 
set  to  carry  water.  They  will  not  be  allowed  to  get  out  of  it 
again,  on  any  pretext." 

"  Now  send  me  Colonel  Stanburne's  men-servants." 

Several  men  presented  themselves.  "  Fetch  every  thing 
you  can  lay  your  hands  on  in  the  out-houses  that  will  hold 
water." 

"  Pray  accept  me  as  a  volunteer,  Captain  Eureton,"  said 
the  Duke. 

"  And  I  'm  an  old  soldier,"  said  the  medalled  General  ; 
"  you  '11  have  me,  too,  I  suppose." 

The  cordon  was  by  this  time  formed,  and  a  quantity  of 
buckets  fetched  from  the  out-houses. 

A  chain  was  very  soon  formed  from  the  brink  of  the  rivu- 
let to  the  inside  of  the  house,  and  the  Adjutant  went  in  with 
Philip  Stanburne  to  reconnoitre.  When  he  came  out  he  walked 
to  the  middle  of  the  space  enclosed  by  the  cordon  of  militia- 
men, and  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Volunteers  for  saving  the 
furniture,  come  forward  !  " 

Such  numbers  of  men  presented  themselves  (including  the 
Colonel's  guests),  that  it  was  necessary  to  close  the  cordon 
against  many  of  thtra.  Those  who  were  admitted  were  told 
oflf  by  the  Adjutant  in  parties  of  a  dozen  each,  and  each 
party  placed  under  the  command  of  a  gentleman,  with  an  old 
soldier  for  a  help.  It  was  Philip  Stanburne's  duty  to  guide 
and  distribute  the  parties  in  the  house  —  the  Adjutant  com- 
manding outside.  The  Colonel,  in  his  kind  way,  had  shown 
Philip  Stanburne  over  the  house  on  his  first  visit  to  Wender- 
holme,  so  that  he  knew  and  remembered  the  arrangement  of 
the  rooms. 

Though  the  house  did  not  front  precisely  to  the  west,   it 


236  WenderJiolme.  part  i. 

will  best  serve  our  present  purposes  to  speak  as  if  it  had 
done  so.  Supposing,  then,  the  principal  front  to  be  the  west 
front,  the  back  of  the  edifice,  where  Philip  Stanburne  first 
discovered  the  fire,  was  to  the  east,  whilst  the  south  and 
north  fronts  looked  to  the  wood  on  each  side  the  ravine,  at 
the  opening  of  which  Wenderholme  Hall  was  situated.  The 
fire  had  been  discovered  towards  the  south-east  corner  of 
the  edifice,  where  little  Edith's  apartments  were.  The  great 
staircase  was  in  the  centre,  immediately  behind  the  entrance- 
hall  ;  but  there  were  five  other  staircases  of  much  narrower 
dimensions,  two  of  them  winding  stairs  of  stone,  the  other 
three  modern  stairs  of  deal  wood,  such  as  are  commonly 
made  for  servants. 

Acting  under  Captain  Eureton's  directions,  Philip  Stan- 
burne distributed  his  parties  according  to  the  staircases,  and 
other  parties  were  stationed  at  the  doors  to  receive  the 
things  they  brought  down,  and  carry  them  to  places  already 
decided  upon  by  the  Adjutant.  The  business  of  extinguish- 
ing or  circumscribing  the  fire  was  altogether  distinct  from 
that  of  salvage.  Two  lines  of  men  were  stationed  from  the 
side  of  the  rivulet  to  the  top  of  the  great  staircase.  One 
line  passed  full  buckets  from  hand  to  hand,  the  other  passed 
them  down  again  as  soon  as  they  were  empty.  A  special 
party,  consisting  of  the  gardeners  belonging  to  Colonel  Stan- 
burne's  establishment,  a  joiner,  and  one  or  two  other  men 
who  were  employed  at  Wenderholme,  had  been  formed  by 
the  Adjutant  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  what  might  serve 
as  buckets,  the  supply  being  limited.  Various  substitutes 
were  found  ;  amongst  others,  a  number  of  old  oyster-barrels, 
which  were  rapidly  fitted  with  rope-handles. 

Notwithstanding  the  number  of  men  under  his  command, 
and  the  excellent  order  which  was  maintained,  it  became 
evident  to  Captain  Eureton  that  it  was  beyond  his  power  to 
save  the  south  wing  of  the  building.  Even  the  northern 
end  of  the  upper  corridor  was  filled  with  dense  smoke,  and 


Chap.  XXVII.  The  Fire.  237 

towards  Edith  Stanburne's  apartments  there  was  a  perfect 
furnace.  By  frequently  changing  places,  the  men  were  able 
to  dispute  the  ground  against  the  fire  inch  by  inch  ;  and  the 
clouds  of  steam  which  rose  as  they  deluged  the  hot  walls  had 
the  effect  of  making  the  atmosphere  more  supportable.  If 
the  fire  did  not  gain  on  them  too  rapidly,  there  seemed  to 
be  a  fair  chance  of  saving  some  considerable  proportion  of 
the  mansion  by  means  of  the  fire-engines,  when  they  arrived. 

Meanwhile  the  salvage  of  goods  went  forward  with  perfect 
regularity.  The  influence  of  Captain  Eureton's  coolness  and 
method  extended  itself  to  every  one,  and  the  things  were 
handed  down  as  quietly  as  in  an  ordinary  removal.  Hardly 
any  thing  was  broken  or  even  injured ;  the  rooms  were 
emptied  one  by  one,  and  the  contents  of  each  room  placed 
together.  Every  thing  was  saved  from  the  charter-room  — 
Philip  Stanburne  took  care  to  see  to  that. 

What  the  Duke  was  most  anxious  to  save  was  the  contents 
of  the  lumber-garrets,  where  lay  the  dishonored  remnants  of 
the  old  wainscot  and  carved  furniture  of  Elizabethan  Wen- 
derholme.  But  when  he  got  up  there  with  his  party  he 
found  that  it  was  not  quite  possible  to  breathe.  A  more 
serious  discovery  than  the  inevitable  loss  of  the  old  oak 
was  that  the  fire  was  rapidly  spreading  northwards  in  the 
garrets. 

There  was  a  little  ledge  round  the  roof  outside,  protected 
by  a  stone  parapet,  and  broad  enough  for  a  man  to  walk 
along ;  so  the  chain  of  water-carriers  was  continued  up  to 
this  ledge,  and  a  hole  was  made  in  the  slating  through  which 
a  tolerably  continuous  stream  was  poured  amongst  the  burn- 
ing lumber  inside.  The  uselessness  of  this,  however,  shortly 
became  apparent ;  the  water  had  little  or  no  effect  —  it  flowed 
along  the  floor,  and  the  rafters  had  already  caught  fire.  The 
slates  were  so  hot  that  it  was  impossible  to  touch  them.  It 
was  evident  that  the  lead  under  the  men's  feet  would  soon 
begin  to  melt,  and  the  men  were  withdrawn  into  the  interior. 


2*;  8  Wenderhobne.  Part  i 


J 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

FATHER   AND    DAUGHTER. 

WHEN  Colonel  Stanburne  had  removed  Edith's  picture, 
he  carried  it  away  into  the  darkness.  He  could  not 
endure  the  idea  of  having  to  explain  his  action,  and  instinc- 
tively kept  out  of  people's  way.  Still,  he  could  not  leave  it 
out  of  doors  ;  he  dreaded  some  injury  that  might  happen  to 
it.  Where  could  he  put  it?  In  one  of  the  out-houses?  A 
careless  groom  might  injure  it  in  the  hurry  and  excitement 
of  the  night.  No ;  it  would  be  safe  nowhere  but  at  his 
mother's,  and  thither  he  would  carry  it. 

There  were  two  communications  from  the  Hall  to  the 
cottage  —  a  carriage-drive  and  a  little  footpath.  The  drive 
curved  about  a  little  under  the  old  trees  in  the  park,  but  the 
footpath  was  more  direct,  and  went  through  a  dense  shrub- 
bery. On  his  way  to  the  cottage  the  Colonel  met  no  one, 
but  on  his  arrival  there  he  met  Lady  Helena  in  the  entrance. 
His  mother  was  there  too.  Late  as  it  was,  she  had  not  yet 
gone  to  bed. 

The  sight  of  the  Colonel,  bareheaded,  and  carrying  a  great 
oil  picture  in  his  hands,  greatly  astonished  both  these  ladies. 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  that  picture,  John  ?  "  said  Lady 
Helena. 

"  I  want  it  to  be  safe  —  it  will  be  safe  here  ; "  and  he  reared 
it  against  the  wall.  Then  he  said,  "  No,  not  here  ;  it  will  be 
safer  in  the  drawing-room ;  open  the  door.    Thank  you." 

When  they  got  into  the  drawing-room,  the  Colonel  delib- 
erately took   down   a  portrait  of  himself  and  hung   Edith's 


c  1  i  A  P.  XXVIII.       I^a  ther  a  nd  Da  ugh  ter.  239 

portrait  in  its  place.  His  manner  was  very  strange,  both 
tiie  ladies  thought ;  his  action  most  strange  and  eccentric. 
Lady  Helena  thought  he  had  drunk  too  much  wine  ;  Mrs. 
Stanburne  dreaded  insanity. 

With  that  humoring  tone  which  is  often  adopted  towards 
persons  not  in  possession  of  their  mental  faculties,  Mrs. 
Stanburne  said,  "  Well,  John,  I  shall  be  glad  to  take  care  of 
Edith's  picture  for  you,  if  you  think  that  it  can  be  safer  here 
than  at  the  Hall." 

"Yes,  it  will  be  safer — it  will  be  safer." 

This  answer,  and  his  strange  wild  look,  confirmed  pooi 
old  Mrs.  Stanburne's  fears.  She  began  to  tremble  visibly. 
"  Helena,  Helena,"  she  whispered,  "poor  John  is  —  has"  — 

"  No,  mother,  I  'm  not  mad,  and  I  'm  not  drunk  either, 
Helena,  but  I  've  brought  this  picture  here  because  it 's  more 
valuable  to  me  now  than  it  used  to  be,  and  —  I  don't  want 
it  to  be  burnt,  you  understand." 

"  No,  I  don't  understand  you  at  all,"  said  her  ladyship ; 
"  you  are  unintelligible  to-night.  Better  come  home,  I  think, 
and  not  drink  any  more  wine.  I  never  saw  you  like  this 
before.     It  is  disgraceful." 

"  Helena  !  "  said  the  Colonel,  in  a  very  deep,  hoarse  voice, 
"Wenderholme  Hall  is  on  fire,  and  my  daughter  Edith  is 
burnt  to  death!" 

Just  as  he  finished  speaking,  a  lurid  light  filled  the  sky,  and 
shone  through  the  windows  of  the  cottage.  Lady  Helena 
went  suddenly  to  the  window,  then  she  left  the  room,  left  the 
house,  and  went  swiftly  along  by  the  little  path.  John  Stan- 
burne was  left  alone  with  his  mother. 

She  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  looked  in  his  face  anxiously. 
"My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "it's  a  pity  about  the  house,  you 
know  ;  but  our  little  Edith  "  — 

"What.?" 

"  Is  perfecdy  safe  here,  and  fast  asleep  up-stairs  in  hei 
own  little  bed!" 


240  Wenderkolme.  Part  i. 

John  Stanburne  did  not  quite  realize  this  at  first.  When 
it  became  clear  to  him,  he  walked  about  the  room  in  great 
agitation,  not  uttering  a  word.  Then  he  stopped  suddenly, 
and  folded  his  mother  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her.  He  kept 
her  hand  and  knelt  down  before  the  sofa ;  she  understood 
the  action,  and  knelt  with  him.  Edith's  picture  was  hanging 
just  above  them,  and  as  his  lips  moved  in  inaudible  thanks- 
giving, his  eyes  rose  towards  it  and  contemplated  its  sweet 
and  innocent  beauty.  He  had  had  the  courage  to  save  it 
from  the  burning  house,  but  not  the  courage  to  let  his  eyes 
dwell  upon  it  thus.  Fair  hair  that  hast  not  been  consumed 
in  cruel  flame  !  fair  eyes  that  shall  shine  in  the  sunlight  of 
to-morrow  !  sweet  lips  whose  dear  language  shall  yet  be  heard 
in  your  father's  house! — your  living  beauty  shall  give  him 
cheerfulness  under  this  calamity  ! 

When  they  rose,  his  mother  said,  "  Come  and  see ; "  and 
she  took  him  up  to  a  little  dainty  room  which  Edith  loved, 
and  there,  in  a  narrow  bed  curtained  with  pale  blue  silk,  she 
lay  in  perfect  peace.  The  night  was  warm,  and  there  was 
a  glow  on  the  healthy  cheek,  and  one  little  hand,  frilled  with 
delicate  lace,  lay  trying  to  cool  itself  upon  the  counterpane. 

"  I  'm  afraid  she 's  rather  too  warm,"  said  her  grand- 
mother. But  John  Stanburne  thought  of  the  fiery  chamber 
at  Wenderholme. 


Chap.  XXIX.         Progress  of  the  Fire.  24 1 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

PROGRESS   OF  THE   FIRE. 

MRS.  STANBURNE'S  tender  sympathy  for  her  son's 
grief  at  the  supposed  loss  of  Edith,  and  participation 
in  his  gladness  at  the  recovery  of  his  treasure,  had  for  a  time 
restrained  the  expression  of  her  anxiety  about  the  fire  at  the 
Hall ;  but  now  that  her  son  had  seen  little  Edith,  Mrs. 
Stanburne  went  to  the  window  of  the  bed-room  and  looked 
out.  The  "Hall  was  not  visible  from  the  lower  rooms  of  the 
cottage,  being  hidden  by  the  thick  shrubbery  which  bounded 
the  little  lawn  ;  but  it  was  clearly  visible  from  the  upper 
windows,  which  looked  in  that  direction. 

No  sooner  had  Mrs.  Stanburne  opened  the  curtains  and 
drawn  up  the  blind,  than  she  uttered  a  cry  of  alarm.  The 
fire  having  originated  in  the  garret,  the  carpentry  of  the  roof 
had  been  attacked  early,  and  now  a  portion  of  it  had  given 
way.  A  column  of  sparks,  loftier  than  the  Victoria  Tower  at 
Westminster,  shot  up  in  the  dark  sky. 

Mrs.  Stanburne  turned  round  in  great  agitation.  "  Let  us 
go,  John  —  let  us  go  to  the  Hall ;  it  will  be  burnt  down.  You 
will  be  wanted  to  give  orders." 

This  recalled  the  Colonel  to  himself,  and  for  the  present 
he  gave  up  thinking  about  his  little  Edith.  "  Eureton  is  in 
command,  and  he  's  a  better  officer  than  I  am.  He  will  do 
all  that  can  be  done.  But  come  along,  mother  —  come  along; 
let  us  go  there." 

As  they  approached  the  Hall,  it  was  evident  to  John  Stan- 
burne that-  the  fire  had  made  terrible  progress.     The  whole 

16 


242  WendcrJwlme.  Part  i. 

of  the  uppermost  story  was  illuminated  by  the  dread  light  of 
conflagration.  At  the  south  end,  which  had  been  burning 
longest,  and  where  the  roof  had  fallen  in,  sparks  still  rose 
in  immense  quantities,  and  terrible  tongues  of  flame  showed 
their  points,  darting  angrily,  above   the  lofty  walls. 

Eureton  was  in  the  centre  of  the  open  space  still  steadily 
guarded  by  the  cordon  of  militia-men.  He  was  looking  at 
his  watch,  but  on  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  dial,  saw  the  Colo- 
nel and  Mrs.  Stanburne,  and  went  to  them  at  once.  "  I  have 
been  anxious  to  see  you  for  some  time,  Colonel.  Do  you 
wish  to  take  the  men  under  your  own  orders  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  do  oblige  me  by  directing  every  thing  just 
as  you  have  done.  You  do  it  ten  times  better  than  I  should 
—  I  know  you  do." 

"  I  am  sorry  we  have  been  unable  to  save  the  roof.  I  with- 
drew the  men  from  it  rather  early,  perhaps,  but  wished  to 
avoid  any  sacrifice  of  life." 

"  Better  let  the  whole  place  burn  down  than  risk  any  of 
these  good  fellows'  lives.    Is  there  anybody  in  the  house  now  ?  " 

"  Captain  Stanburne  has  eight  parties  on  the  first  floor  re- 
moving furniture.  He  has  removed  every  thing  from  the  upper 
floors." 

"  But  are  they  safe  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Stanburne. 

''  No  floors  have  fallen  in  yet  except  part  of  the  garret 
floor,  and  one  or  two  in  the  south  wing.  We  have  drenched 
every  room  with  water,  after  it  was  emptied  ;  we  have  left  the 
carpets  on  the  floors  purposely,  because  being  thoroughly 
wetted,  they  will  help  to  delay  the  progress  of  the  fire.  We 
have  used  all  the  blankets  from  the  beds  in  the  same  way. 
Every  thing  else  has  been  removed." 

"  I  hope  all  the  visitors'  things  will  be  safe.  Sonie  of  those 
old  ladies,  you  know,  have  wonderful  lots  of  things  in  their 
portmanteaus.  I  believe  that  in  point  of  mere  money's  worth, 
old  Lady  Brabazon's  boxes  are  more  valuable  than  all  Wen- 
derholme  and  its  furniture  too,  by  Jove  ! " 


Chap.  XXIX.  Progress  of  the  Fire.  243 

''  I  must  ask  the  ladies  to  sleep  at  the  cottage,"  said  Mrs. 
Stanburne. 

"  They  are  at  the  summer-house,  watching  the  fire,"  said 
the  Adjutant.     "  I  believe  it  amuses  them." 

"  You  are  uncharitable,"  said  Mrs.  Stanburne  ;  "  nobody 
can  help  watching  a  fire,  you  know.  A  fire  always  fascinates 
people." 

"  I  wouldn't  let  old  Lady  Brabazon  have  her  boxes,  and 
she  's  furiously  angry  with  me." 

"  Well,  but  why  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  If  I  let  one,  I  must  let  another,  and  there  would  be  no 
end  to  the  confusion  and  breakage  that  would  ensue.  I  have 
refused  Lady  Helena  herself,  but  she  took  it  very  nicely  and 
kindly.     It 's  different  with  Lady  Brabazon  ;  she  's  in  a  rage." 

"  I  'II  go  with  my  mother  to  the  summer-house,  and  come 
back  to  you,  Eureton,  in  ten  minutes." 

The  summer-house  in  question  pres-ented  rather  a  curious 
picture.  It  was  not  strictly  a  "  house  "  at  all,  but  simply  a 
picturesque  shed  with  a  long  bench  under  it,  which  people 
could  sit  down  upon  at  noon,  with  their  backs  to  the  south, 
well  sheltered  from  the  summer  sun  by  a  roof  and  wall  of 
excellent  thatch,  whilst  the  stream  purled  pleasantly  at  the 
foot  of  a  steep  slope,  and  seemed  to  cool  the  air  by  its  mere 
sound.  The  back  of  the  seat  was  towards  the  steep  wooded 
hill,  and  the  front  of  it  looked  towards  the  south  wing  of  the 
house,  including  a  very  good  view  of  the  front.  It  was  deci- 
dedly the  best  view  of  Wenderholme  which  could  be  had  ; 
and  when  artists  drew  Wenderholme  for  those  well-known 
works,  "  Homes  of  the  Landed  Gentry,"  and  "  Dwellings  of 
the  English  Aristocracy,"  and  "  Ancient  Seats  of  Yorkshire," 
here  they  always  rubbed  their  cakes  of  sepia  and  began. 

The  ladies  were  not  playing  the  harp  or  the  fiddle,  as  Nero 
is  said  to  have  done  during  the  burning  of  Rome  ;  but  they 
were  enjoying  the  spectacle  as  most  people  enjoy  that  which 
greatly   interests   and   excites.       Lady    Adisham,  John  Stan- 


244  We7tderholme.  Part  I. 

burne's  august  mother-in-law,  was  not  there  ;  she  was  in  close 
conference  with  her  daughter,  in  a  part  of  the  grounds  yet 
more  private  and  remote.  But  Lady  Brabazon  was  there, 
and  some  other  splendidly  adorned  dames,  who  were  passing 
an  opera-glass  from  hand  to  hand. 

As  the  Colonel  and  his  mother  approached,  they  had  the 
pleasure  of  overhearing  the  following  fragment  of  conversation. 

"  Quite  a  great  fire  ;  really  magnificent !  Don't  you  think 
so?     We  're  safe  here,  I  believe." 

"Yes  ;  Captain  Eureton  said  we  should  be  safe  here." 

"  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Stanburne  has  insured  his  house.  They 
say  he  's  not  at  all  rich.  Pity  his  little  daughter  was  burnt  — 
really  great  pity  ;  nice  little  girl !  " 

"  Where  are  we  to  sleep  to-night,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Really  don't  know.  A  la  belle  eioile,  I  suppose.  That 
horrid  man  that  's  ordering  the  men  about  won't  let  us  have 
our  boxes.   We  shall  take  cold.    I  have  nothihg  but  this  shawl." 

Just  then  the  Colonel  presented  himself. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  with  some  bitterness,  "  that  my 
house  should  be  burnt  down,  if  the  accident  has  caused  you 
any  inconvenience.  Mrs.  Stanburne  is  come  to  offer  you 
some  accommodation  at  Wenderholme  Cottage." 

Lady  Brabazon  was  going  to  make  a  speech  of  condolence, 
but  the  Colonel  prevented  it  by  adding,  "  Pray  excuse  me  — 
I  ought  to  be  amongst  the  men  ;  "  and  bowing  very  deferen- 
tially, he  disappeared. 

John  Stanburne  left  Eureton  in  command,  and  worked  him- 
self as  a  volunteer  amongst  the  water-carriers  within  the 
building.  The  reaction  from  his  despair  about  Edith  made 
his  other  misfortunes  light,  and  he  worked  with  a  cheerfulness 
and  courage  that  did  good  to  the  men  about  him. 

"  This  is  hot  work,"  he  said  to  one  of  the  volunteers  ; 
"have  none  of  the  men  had  any  thing  to  drink.''" 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  we  are  doing  pretty  well  for  that.  We 
take  a  little  water  from  the  buckets  now  and  then." 


Chap.  XXIX.  Progress  of  the  Fire.  245 

"  And  the  other  fellows  who  are  removing  the  furniture  ? " 

"  It  must  be  dry  work  for  them,  sir." 

On  this  the  Colonel  said  he  could  be  more  useful  else- 
where, and  went  to  find  out  his  old  butler.  This  was  very 
easy,  since  the  Adjutant  knew  where  every  one  was  posted. 

The  Colonel,  with  a  small  party  of  trustworthy  sober  fel- 
lows, went  down  into  the  cellar,  and  returned  with  some  doz- 
ens of  bottled  ale  and  other  liquids.  He  made  it  his  business 
to  distribute  refreshment  amongst  the  men,  giving  the  glass 
always  with  his  own  hand,  and  never  without  some  kind  ex- 
pression of  his  personal  gratitude  for  the  exertions  they  had 
made.  He  took  this  office  upon  himself  simply  because  he 
"  thought  the  men  must  be  thirsty,"  as  he  expressed  it ;  but 
the  deepest  policy  could  not  have  suggested  a  better  thing  to 
do.  It  brought  him  into  personal  contact  with  every  volun- 
teer about  the  place,  and  in  the  most  graceful  way. 

Captain  Eureton  was  beginning  to  be  anxious  about  the 
fire-engines,  and  had  the  road  cleared,  and  kept  clear,  by  a 
patrol.  Fyser  had  been  absent  nearly  three  hours.  The  dis- 
tance from  Wenderholme  to  the  little  station  (the  same  that 
Lady  Helena  had  arrived  at  on  her  return  from  London)  was 
ten  miles.  Supposing  that  Fyser  drove  at  the  rate  of  thir- 
teen miles  an  hour,  or  thereabouts  (which  he  would  do  on 
such  an  emergency),  he  would  be  at  the  station  in  forty-five 
minutes.  He  would  have  to  seek  the  telegraphist  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  wake  him  up,  and  get  him  to  the  station  —  all  that 
would  consume  twenty  minutes.  Then  to  get  the  engines 
from  Bradford,  over  thirty  miles  of  rail,  a  special  locomotive 
running  fifty  miles  an  hour,  thirty-six  minutes.  Time  to  get 
the  engines  in  Bradford  to  the  station  and  to  start  the  train, 
say  thirty  minutes  —  total,  a  hundred  and  thirty-one  minutes, 
or  two  hours  and  eleven  minutes.  Then  the  return  to  Wen- 
derholme, forty-five  minutes  — say  three  hours.  "  Yes,  three 
hours,"  said  Captain  Eureton  to  himself  ;  "  I  believe  I  should 
have  done  better  to  send  for  the  Sootythorn  engines.     Fyser 


246  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

would  have  been  there  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  there  would 
have  been  no  delays  about  the  railway." 

Just  then  a  sound  of  furious  galloping  was  heard  in  the 
distance,  and  the  welcome  exclamation,  "The  engines,  the 
engines  !  "  passed  amongst  the  crowd.  The  gates  being  all 
open,  and  the  road  clear,  the  engines  were  soon  in  the  ave- 
nue. The  drivers  galloped  into  the  middle  of  the  space 
enclosed  by  the  cordon  of  militia-men,  then  they  trotted  a 
few  yards  and  stopped.  The  horses  were  covered  with  foam 
and  perspiration  ;  the  men  leaped  down  from  their  seats  and 
at  once  began  to  arrange  the  hose. 

Captain  Eureton  went  to  the  captain  of  the  fire-brigade. 
"  You  have  lost  no  time  ;  I  feared  some  delay  on  the  railway." 

"  Railway,  sir  ?  there  is  no  railway  from  Sootythorn  to  this 
place." 

"  But  you  come  from  Bradford." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,  we  are  the  Sootythorn  brigade  —  we  come 
from  Sootythorn.  You  telegraphed  for  us  —  anyhow,  a  Mr. 
Fyser  did." 

"  He  did  right.     What  do  you  think  of  the  fire  ? " 

The  fireman  looked  up.  "  It 's  a  bad  one.  Been  burning 
three  hours?  We  may  save  the  first  floor,  and  the  ground- 
floor.     Not  very  likely,  though.     Where  's  water  ?  " 

"  Small  stream  here  ; "  the  Adjutant  led  the  fireman  to  the 
rivulet. 

"  Very  good,  very  good.  House  burns  most  at  this  end,  I 
see." 

The  hose  was  soon  laid.  There  were  two  engines,  and  the 
firemen,  aided  by  volunteers,  began  to  pump  vigorously.  Two 
powerful  jets  began  to  play  upon  the  south  wing,  and  it  was 
a  satisfaction  to  Captain  Eureton  to  see  them  well  at  work, 
though  with  little  immediate  effect.  There  being  no  sign  of 
Fyser,  the  Adjutant  concluded  that  he  was  waiting  for  the 
Bradford  engines. 

The  whole  remaining  mass  of  roof  now  fell  in  with  a  tre- 


Chap.  XXIX.        Progress  of  the  Fire.  247 

mendous  crash,  and  the  flames  enveloped  the  gables,  issu- 
ing from  the  windows  of  the  uppermost  story.  The  mul- 
titude was  hushed  by  the  grandeur  of  the  spectacle.  All  the 
woods  of  Wenderholme,  all  its  deep  ravine,  were  lighted  by 
the  glare,  and  even  at  Shayton  the  glow  of  an  unnatural  dawn 
might  be  seen  in  the  sky  over  the  lofty  moorland. 

And  the  real  dawn  was  approaching  also,  the  true  Aurora, 
ever  fresh  and  pure,  bathed  in  her  silver  dews.  There  are 
engines  hurrying  towards  Wenderholme,  through  the  beautiful 
quiet  lanes  and  between  the  peaceful  fields  ;  and  the  gray 
early  light  shows  the  road  to  the  eager  drivers  and  their  gal- 
loping steeds,  and  the  breath  of  the  pure  morning  fans  the 
brows  of  the  men  who  sit  in  dark  uniforms,  helmeted,  peril- 
ously on  those  rocking  chariots. 

But  the  old  house  is  past  any  help  of  theirs  !  The  floors 
have  fallen  one  after  another.  All  the  accumulated  wood  is 
burning  together  on  the  ground-floor  now  :  in  the  hall,  where 
Reginald  Stanburne's  portrait  hung ;  in  the  dining-room, 
where,  a  few  hours  before,  the  brilliant  guests  had  been  sump- 
tuously entertained  ;  in  the  drawing-room,  where  the  ladies 
sat  after  dinner  in  splendor  of  diamonds  and  fine  lace.  Ev- 
ery one  of  these  rooms  is  a  focus  of  ardent  heat  —  a  red  fur- 
nace, terrible,  unapproachable.  The  red  embers  will  blacken 
in  the  daylight,  under  the  unceasing  streams  from  the  fire- 
engines,  and  heaps  of  hissing  charcoal  will  fill  the  nails  of 
Wenderholme ! 

But  the  walls  are  standing  yet  —  the  brave  old  walls  !  Even 
the  carving  of  the  front  is  not  injured.  The  house  exists 
still,  or  the  shell  of  it  —  the  ghost  of  old  Wenderholme,  its 
appearance,  its  eidolon  ! 

I  know  who  laments  this  grievous  misfortune  most.  It  is 
not  John  Stanburne :  ever  since  that  child  of  his  was  known 
to  be  in  safety,  he  has  been  as  gay  as  if  this  too  costly  spec- 
tacle had  been  merely  a  continuation  of  the  fireworks.  It  is 
not   Lady  Helena :  she  is  very  busy,  has  been  very  busy  all 


248  Wenderholme.  Part  i 

night,  going  this  way  and  that,  and  plaguing  the  people  with 
contradictory  orders.  She  is  much  excited  —  even  irritated 
—  but  she  is  not  sad.  Wenderholme  was  not  much  to  her  ; 
she  never  really  loved  it.  If  a  country  house  had  not  been  a 
necessity  of  station,  she  would  have  exchanged  Wenderholme 
for  a  small  house  in  Belgravia,  or  a  tiny  hotel  in  Paris. 

But  old  Mrs.  Stanburne  grieved  for  the  dear  old  house  that 
had  been  made  sacred  to  her  by  a  thousand  interests  and 
associations.  There  was  more  to  her  in  the  rooms  as  they 
had  been,  than  there  was  either  to  Lady  Helena  or  to  the 
proprietor  himself.  She  had  dreaded  in  silence  the  proposed 
changes  and  restorations,  and  this  terrible  destruction  came 
upon  her  like  the  blow  of  an  eternal  exclusion  and  separa- 
tion. The  rooms  where  her  husband  had  lived  with  her,  the 
room  he  died  in,  she  could  enter  never  more  !  So  she  sat 
alone  in  her  sadness,  looking  on  the  ruin  as  it  blackened 
gradually  in  the  morning,  and  her  spirits  sank  low  within 
her,  and  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 


Chap.  XXX.       Uucle  Jacob's  Love  Affair.  249, 


T 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

UNCLE  JACOB'S   LOVE   AFFAIR. 

HE  fire  at  Wenderholme  was  known  all  over  the  coun- 
-*-  try  the  same  morning,  so  the  people  who  had  been 
asked  to  the  presentation  of  colors  stayed  away.  The  colors 
were  given  almost  without  ceremony,  and  the  men  came  back 
to  Sooty  thorn. 

Jacob  Ogden  had  got  as  far  as  Sootythorn  the  evening  be- 
fore with  the  intention  of  going  on  to  Wenderholme  in  the 
morning  to  see  the  ceremony,  for  he  had  been  invited  thereto 
by  his  brother  Isaac.  As  matters  turned  out,  however,  he 
thought  he  would  go  to  Whittlecup  to  fetch  his  mother  back 
to  Milend,  for  the  house  seemed  to  him  very  uncomfortable 
without  her. 

He  called  at  Arkwright  Lodge,  and  spent  the  day  there. 
The  day  following,  Mr.  Anison  was  to  give  a  small  dinner- 
party composed  of  some  of  the  leading  manufacturers  in 
that  neighborhood,  so  he  pressed  Jacob  Ogden  to  stay  it 
over. 

He  stayed  three  days  at  Arkwright  Lodge  —  three  whole 
days  away  from  the  mill  —  from  the  mills,  we  may  now  say, 
for  Jacob  Ogden  was  already  a  pluralist  in  mills.  The  new 
one  was  rising  rapidly  out  of  the  green  earth,  and  a  smooth, 
well-kept  meadow  was  now  trampled  into  mud  and  covered 
with  heaps  of  stone  and  timber,  and  cast-iron  columns  and 
girders.  And  for  three  days  had  Jacob  Ogden  left  this  de- 
lightful, this  enchanting  scene  !  What  a  strong  attraction 
there  must  have  been   at  Whittlecup,  to  draw  him  from  his 


250  Wefider holme.  Part  l 

industrial  paradise  !     He  felt  bound  to  the  unpoetical   Shay- 
ton,  as  Hafiz  was  to  his  fair  Persian  valley  when  he  sang  — 

"  They  will  not  allow  me  to  proceed  upon  my  travels, 
Those  gentle  gales  of  Mosellay, 
That  limpid  stream  of  Rooknabad." 

"I've  no  time  for  goin'  courtin',"  thought  Jacob  to  himself 
as  he  sat  drinking  his  port  wine  after  dinner.  "  I  've  been 
here  three  days,  and  it 's  as  much  as  I  can  afford  for  courtin'. 
But  who's  a  rare  fine  lass  is  Miss  Madge,  an'  I'll  write  her  a 
bit  of  a  letter." 

Before  leaving  the  Lodge,  he  thought  it  as  well  to  prepare 
Mr.  Anison's  mind  for  what  was  to  come,  so  he  asked  to  go 
and  see  the  works.  As  they  were  walking  together,  Ogden 
went  abruptly  into  the  subject  of  matrimony. 

"  Mother 's  been  stoppin'  at  Whittlecup  a  good  bit,  'long  of 
our  Isaac.  I  felt  very  lonesome  at  Milend  'bout  th'  oud 
woman,  and  I  thought  I  s'd  be  lonesomer  and  lonesomer  if 
who  *  'ere  deead." 

"  No  doubt  she  would  be  a  very  great  los-s  to  you,"  said 
Mr.  Anison  ;  "but  Mrs.  Ogden  appears  to  enjoy  excellent 
health." 

Ogden  scarcely  heard  this,  and  continued,  "  So  I  've  been 
thinkin',  like,  as  I  'appen  might  get  wed." 

"  It  would  certainly  be  a  good  security  against  loneliness." 

"  I  can  afford  to  keep  a  wife.  You  may  look  at  my 
banker's  account  whenever  you  like.  I  've  a  good  property 
already  in  land  and  houses,  and  I  'm  building  a  new  mill." 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  going  into  detail,"  Mr.  Anison 
said  deprecatingly  ;  "  every  one  knows  that  you  are  a  rich 
man." 

Ogden  laughed,  half  inwardly.  It  was  a  chuckling  little 
laugh,  full  of  the  intensest  self-satisfaction.  "  They  think 
they    know,"    he    said,    "but    they  don't   know — not    right. 

*  The  reader  will  please  to  bear  in  mind  that  who  means  she  in  the 
pure  Lancashire  dialect. 


Chap.  XXX.    Uncle  Jacob's  Love  Affair.  251 

Nobody  knows  what  I  'm  worth,  and  nobody  knows  what  I 
shall  be  worth.  I  'm  one  o'  those  as  sovereigns  sticks  to, 
same  as  if  they  'd  every  one  on  'em  a  bit  o'  stickin'-plaister 
to  fasten  'em  on  wi'.  If  I  live  ten  year,  I  s'll  be  covered 
over  wi'  gold  fourteen  inch  thick." 

"  Is  there  any  positive  necessity  for  you  to  leave  us  now  "i 
Why  not  remain  a  little  longer?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  've  any  chance  at  your  house  ? " 

Mr.  Anison  laughed  at  the  eagerness  of  Ogden's  manner. 
Then  he  said,  "  I  see  no  reason  for  you  to  be  discouraged. 
You  cannot  expect  a  young  lady  to  accept  you  before  you 
have  asked  her." 

Ogden  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  determined  to  go  oa 
to  Shayton  and  write  his  letter. 


252  Weitder holme.  Part  i. 


A 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

UNCLE    JACOB    IS    ACCEPTED. 
ND  this  is  the  letter  Jacob  Ogden  wrote :  — 


"  Miss  Margaret  Anison. 

"Miss,  —  When  I  was  at  your  house  this  afternoon,  I 
meant  to  say  something  to  you,  but  could  not  find  a  chance, 
because  other  people  came  in  just  at  the  time.  I  wished  to 
ask  you  to  be  so  kind  as  to  marry  me.  I  believe  I  shall  be 
a  good  husband  —  at  any  rate,  I  promise  to  do  all  I  can  to 
be  one.  My  wife  shall  have  every  thing  that  a  lady  wants, 
and  I  will  either  build  a  new  house  or  purchase  one,  as  she 
may  like  best.  There  's  a  good  one  on  sale  near  Shayton, 
but  I  don't  mind  building,  if  you  prefer  it.  I  am  well  able 
to  keep  my  wife  as  a  lady.  I  may  say  that  I  have  always 
been  very  steady,  and  not  in  the  habit  of  drinking.  I  never 
go  into  an  ale-house,  and  I  never  spend  any  foolish  money. 
I  shall  feel  very  anxious  until  I  receive  your  answer,  as  you 
will  easily  understand  \  for  my  regard  for  you  is  such  that  I 
most  sincerely  wish  your  answer  may  be  favorable. 

"Yours  truly,  Jacob  Ogden." 

Though  rather  a  queer  letter,  and  singularly  devoid  of  the 
graces  of  composition  and  the  tenderness  of  love,  its  purport, 
at  least,  was  intelligible.  The  reply  showed  that  the  lover 
had  made  himself  clearly  understood. 


Chap.  XXXI.        Unck  Jacob  is  accepted.  253 

"My  dear  Sir,  —  The  proposal  contained  in  your  letter 
has  rather  surprised  me,  as  we  have  seen  so  little  of  each 
other,  but  after  consulting  my  parents  I  may  say  that  I  do 
not  refuse,  and  they  desire  me  to  add  that  there  will  be  a 
room  for  you  here  whenever  your  business  engagements  per- 
mit you  to  visit  us.     Sincerely  yours, 

"  Margaret  Anison." 

It  is  to  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Ogden  felt  sensations  of 
profound  happiness  on  reading  this  little  perfumed  note  ; 
but  when  a  man  is  an  old  bachelor  by  nature,  he  does  not 
become  uxorious  in  a  week  or  two ;  and  we  may  confess  that, 
after  the  unpleasantness  of  the  first  shock,  a  positive  refusal 
would  have  left  the  lover's  mind  in  a  state  of  far  more  per- 
fect happiness  and  calm.  His  pride  was  gratified,  his  passion 
was  fortunate  in  dreaming  of  its  now  certain  fruition,  and 
he  knew  that  such  a  woman  as  Margaret  Anison  would  add 
greatly  to  his  position  in  the  world.  He  knew  that  she 
would  improve  it  in  one  way,  but  then  he  felt  anxiously 
apprehensive  that  she  might  deteriorate  it  in  another.  He 
would  become  more  of  a  gentleman  in  society  with  a  lady 
by  his  side,  but  a  wife  and  family  would  be  a  hindrance  to 
his  pecuniary  ambition.  From  the  hour  of  his  acceptance 
he  saw  this  a  good  deal  more  clearly  than  he  had  done  since 
this  passion  implanted  itself  in  his  being.  He  had  seen  it 
clearly  enough  before  he  knew  Margaret  Anison,  but  the 
strength  of  a  new  passion  acting  upon  a  nature  by  no  means 
subtly  self-conscious,  had  for  a  time  obscured  the  normal 
keenness  of  his  sight.  After  re-reading  Margaret's  note  for 
the  tenth  time,  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  said  to  himself :  *'  She  's 
a  fine  girl  —  there  isn't  a  finer  lass  in  all  Manchester;  but 
I  'm  a  damned  fool  —  that's  what  I  am.  What  have  I  to  do 
goin'  courtin'  ?  Howsomever,  it 's  no  good  skrikin'  over  spilt 
milk  —  we  mun  manage  as  well  as  we  can.  We  've  plenty  to 
live  on,  and   she  can   have  four  or  five  servants,  if  she  '11 


254  Wenderholme.  Part  l 

nobbut  look  well  afther  'em."  Then  he  went  into  the  little 
sitting-room,  where  his  mother  sat  mending  his  stockings. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  there  's  news  for  you.  Some- 
body's boun'  to  be  wed." 

The  stocking  was  deposited  in  Mrs.  Ogden's  lap,  and  she 
looked  at  her  son  with  fixed  eyes. 

"  It 's  owther  our  Isaac  or  me,  and  it  isn't  our  Isaac." 

"Why,  then,  it 's  thee,  Jacob." 

"  You  're  clever  at  guessin',  old  woman  ;  you  always  was 
a  'cute  un." 

"  What !  are  you  boun'  to  wed  somebody  at  Whittlecup  ?  " 

"  She  doesn't  live  a  hundred  mile  off  Whittlecup." 

Mrs.  Ogden  rose  from  her  seat  and  laid  down  her  stock- 
ing, and  made  slowly  for  the  door.  She  stopped,  however, 
midway,  and  with  a  stately  gesture  pointed  to  the  mended 
stocking.     "  Can  she  darn  like  that?  " 

"  She  'appen  can  do,  mother." 

"  Han  you  seen  her  do  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Nor  nobody  else  nayther.  But  what  I  reckon  you  think 
you  can  do  b'out  havin'  your  stockin's  mended  when  you  get 
your  fine  wife  into  th'  house,  and  you  think  servants  '11  do 
every  thing.  But  if  you  'd  forty  servants,  you  'd  be  badly  off 
without  somebody  as  knew  how  to  look  afther  'em  all.  And 
if  they  cannot  do  for  theirselves,  they  cannot  orther  other 
folk  — not  right." 

"  Well,  but,  mother,"  said  Jacob,  deprecatingly.  He  was 
going  to  suggest  consolatory  considerations,  founded  upon 
the  apparent  order  and  regularity  of  the  housekeeping  at 
Arkwright  Lodge,  in  the  midst  of  which  Miss  Anison  had 
been  educated. 

But  Mrs.  Ogden  was  not  disposed  to  enter  into  a  discus- 
sion which  would  have  involved  the  necessity  of  giving  her 
son  a  hearing,  and  she  cut  short  his  expostulation  with  a 
proverb,  solemnly  enunciated, — 


Chap.  XXXI.        Uiick  Jacob  is  accepted.  255 

"  As  they  make  their  bed,  so  they  must  lie,"  and  then  she 
left  the  room. 

"Th'  old  woman  isn't  suited,"  thought  Jacob,  "but  :t 
makes  nothing  who  it  had  been,  she  would  have  been  just 
the  same.  She  used  always  to  reckon  she  could  like  me  to 
get  wed,  but  I  knew  well  enough  that  when  it  came  to  the 
point  I  could  never  get  wed  so  as  to  suit  her.  Whoever  I 
wedded,  she  'd  always  have  said  it  should  have  been  some- 
body else."  The  fact  was,  that  whilst  Mrs.  Ogden  warmly 
and  sincerely  approved  of  marriage  as  a  sort  of  general 
proposition,  and  had  even  advised  her  son  for  many  years 
past  to  take  unto  himself  a  wife,  her  jealousy  only  slumbered 
so  long  as  the  said  wife  remained  a  vague  impersonal  idea. 
Mrs.  Ogden  had  not  much  imagination,  and  the  mere  notion 
of  a  possible  wife  for  Jacob  was  very  far  from  arousing  in 
her  breast  the  lively  sensations  which  were  sure  to  be  aroused 
there  by  a  visible,  criticisable  young  woman,  of  flesh  and 
blood,  with  the  faults  that  flesh  is  heir  to.  Now  she  had 
seen  Margaret  Anison,  and  she  had  thought  at  Whittlecup, 
"  She  might  happen  do  for  our  Jacob  ; "  but  when  "  our 
Jacob  "  announced  that  he  had  decided  to  espouse  Margaret 
Anison,  that  was  quite  a  different  thing. 

Matters  had  been  in  this  condition  for  a  month  or  two, 
when  Jacob  Ogden,  whose  visits  to  his  beloved  one  had  been 
made  rare  by  the  exigencies  of  business,  became  somewhat 
importunate  about  the  fixing  of  his  wedding-day.  It  was 
not  that  he  looked  forward  thereto  with  feelings  of  very 
eager  or  earnest  anticipation,  but  he  had  a  business-like 
preference  for  "  fixtures  "  and  dates  over  the  vague  promises 
of  an  indefinite  avenir.  Miss  Anison,  on  the  contrary,  seemed 
to  have  a  rooted  objection  to  such  rigid  limitations  of  liberty ; 
and,  like  a  man  in  debt  whose  creditor  proposes  to  draw 
upon  him  for  an  inexorable  thirtieth  of  next  month,  felt  that 
the  vague  intention  of  paying  some  time  was  for  the  present 
less  hard  and  harassing  to  the  mind.     And   as  the  debtor 


256  VVender holme.  Part  i. 

procrastinates,  so  did  Margaret  Anison  procrastinate.  Her 
heart  was  not  in  this  marriage,  but  her  interest  was  ;  and,  so 
far  as  she  avowed  to  herself  any  purpose  at  all,  her  purpose 
was  to  gain  time,  and  keep  Jacob  Ogden  as  a  resource,  when 
all  chance  of  Philip  Stanburne  should  be  lost  finally  and 
for  ever. 

Miss  Anison,  in  a  matter  of  "this  kind,  was  a  great  deal 
cleverer  than  Jacob  Ogden,  who,  though  not  easily  taken  in 
by  a  man  in  men's  business,  had  little  experience  of  woman- 
kind, and  none  whatever  of  polite  young  ladies  and  their 
ways.  Margaret  Anison  had  found  a  capital  excuse  for 
delay  in  the  necessity  for  building  a  new  house,  and  she  set 
Jacob  Ogden  to  work  thereupon  with  an  energy  at  least 
equal  to  that  which  he  lavished  on  the  new  mill.  He  wanted 
very  much  to  have  the  house  close  to  the  factory,  but  the 
young  lady  preferred  the  tranquillity  of  the  country,  and 
went  to  Milend  expressly  to  select  a  site.  She  chose  a  little 
dell  that  opened  into  the  Shayton  valley;  and  though  of  all 
views  in  the  world  the  pleasantest  for  Mr,  Ogden  would  have 
been  a  view  of  his  own  mills,  he  was  denied  this  satisfaction, 
and  his  windows  looked  out  upon  nothing  but  green  fields. 
"  If  they  'd  nobbut  been  my  own  fields,"  Jacob  thought,  "  I 
wouldn't  so  much  have  cared.  Not  but  what  a  good  mill  is 
a  prettier  sight  than  the  greenest  field  in  Lancashire,  but  it 's 
no  plezur  to  me  to  look  out  upon  other  folks'  property." 
And  the  worst  of  it  was,  that  there  was  no  chance  of  ever 
purchasing  the  said  property,  for  it  belonged  to  an  ancient 
Lancashire  family,  which  had  a  wise  hereditary  objection  to 
parting  with  a  single  acre  of  land. 

Mrs.  Ogden,  now  that  the  engagement  was  a  fait  accompli, 
expressed  the  most  perfect  readiness  to  quit  Milend  and  go 
and  live  in  "  th'  Cream-pot,"  which,  as  the  reader  is  already 
aware,  was  the  expressively  rich  appellative  of  the  richest  of 
her  little  farms.  But  such  was  the  amiable  and  truly  filial 
consideration    displayed    by    Margaret   Anison    towards    her 


Chap.  XXXI.       Uncle  Jacob  is  accepted.  257 

future  mother-in-law,  that  she  would  on  no  account  hear  of 
such  an  arrangement.  "  Mrs.  Ogden,"  she  said,  "  had  always 
been  accustomed  to  Milend,  and  it  would  be  quite  wrong  to 
turn  her  out ; "  indeed  she  "  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing." 
So  the  obedient  Jacob  hurried  on  the  construction  of  a  man- 
sion worthy  of  the  young  lady  who  had  honored  him  with  her 
affections  —  a  mansion  to  be  replete  with  all  modern  comforts 
and  conveniences,  such  as  abounded  at  Arkwright  Lodge. 


258  Wenderholme.  Part  l 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

MR.    STEDMAN    RELENTS. 

PHILIP  STANBURNE'S  life  had  not  been  settled  or 
happy  since  the  date  of  his  visit  to  Derbyshire.  The 
old  tranquil  existence  at  the  Peel  had  become  impossible  for 
him  now.  It  was  intolerable  to  him  to  be  cut  off  from  all 
direct  communication  with  Miss  Stedman,  and  one  day  he 
went  boldly  to  Chesnut  Hill.  He  went  there,  not  under 
cover  of  the  darkness,  as  cowardly  lovers  do,  but  in  the 
broad  openness  of  such  daylight  as  is  ever  to  be  seen  in 
Sootythorn.  I  think,  however,  that  it  would  have  needed 
still  greater  courage  on  his  part  to  present  himself  there 
about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening;  for  in  the  day-time  Mr. 
Stedman  was  usually  at  his  factory,  whereas  about  eight  in 
the  evening  a  friend  might  count  upon  the  pleasure  of  find- 
ing him  at  Chesnut  Hill. 

The  servant-maid  who  opened  the  door  to  Philip  showed 
him  at  once  into  the  drawing-room.  "What  name  shall  I 
say,  sir?"  she  asked.  Philip  gave  his  name,  and  waited. 
He  had  not  inquired  whether  Miss  Stedman  was  at  home  — 
he  felt  a  slight  embarrassment  in  inquiring  about  Miss  Sted- 
man—  and  the  servant  on  her  part  had  simply  asked  him  to 
walk  in. 

He  had  waited  about  five  minutes,  when  a  heavy  step 
became  audible  in  the  passage,  and  the  door  of  the  room  was 
opened.    The  Reverend  Abel  Blunting  stood  before  him. 

"Pray  sit  down,  sir,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman;  "I 
hope  you  are  quite  well.     I  hope  I  see  you  well.     Mr.  Stcd- 


Chap.  XXXII.         Mr.  Stedman  relent s.  259 

man  is  not  at  home  —  he  is  down  at  the  mill  —  but  I  am 
expecting  him  every  minute." 

Mr.  Blunting's  bland  amiability  ought  no  doubt  to  have 
awakened  amiable  feelings  in  Mr.  Stanburne's  breast,  but, 
unfortunately,  it  had  just  the  opposite  effect.  "  I  did  not 
come  here  to  see  Mr.  Stedman,"  he  replied;  "I  came  to  see 
his  daughter." 

Now  Mr.  Blunting  was  a  powerful  man,  both  physically 
and  mentally,  and  a  man  by  no  means  disposed  to  yield 
when  he  considered  firmness  to  be  a  duty.  In  the  present 
instance  he  did  consider  it  necessary  to  prevent  an  interview 
between  Alice  and  her  lover,  and  he  quietly  resolved  to  do 
so  at  all  costs.  "  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  that  you  cannot  see 
Miss  Stedman." 

"  Why  cannot  I  see  her  ?     Is  she  not  at  home  ?  " 

"  She  is  under  this  roof,  sir." 

"  Then  I  will  see  her,"  Philip  answered,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Pray  sit  down,  sir  —  pray  sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Blunting, 
without  stirring  from  the  easy-chair  in  which  he  had  en- 
sconced himself.  He  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand  at  the 
same  time,  which  said  as  plainly  as  it  could,  "  Calm  yourself, 
young  gentleman,  and  listen  to  me." 

"  Pray  sit  down.  Miss  Stedman  is  not  very  well  to-day ; 
indeed  she  has  not  been  really  well,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  for 
some  time  past.  She  does  not  rise  until  the  afternoon,  and 
of  course  you  cannot  go  into  her  bedroom." 

"  Why  not  ?  Come  with  me  if  you  like.  The  doctor  may 
go  there,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"The  doctor  goes  there  professionally,  and  so  does  Miss 
Stedman's  spiritual  adviser." 

"I  could  do  her  more  good  than  either  of  you.  How 
wretchedly  lonely  she  is  !  " 

"  My  wife  comes  to  sit  with  Miss  Stedman  every  day." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her?     Tell  me  the  plain  truth." 

"  Most  willingly  —  most  happy  to  reassure  you,  sir.    There 


26o  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

is  really  nothing  serious  in  Miss  Stedman's  case  ;  the  medical 
men  are  agreed  upon  that.  She  merely  suffers  from  debility, 
which  has  been  neglected  for  some  time  because  she  did  not 
complain.  Now  that  the  ailment  is  known,  it  will  be  com- 
bated in  every  way.  Already  there  is  a  decided  improvement. 
But  in  her  present  state  of  weakness,  agitation  of  any  kind 
might  be  most  prejudicial  — most  prejudicial ;  and  therefore 
I  hope  you  will  easily  see  that  I  dare  not  accept  the  respon- 
sibility of  permitting  an  interview  between  you." 

"  I  shall  wait  here  till  Mr.  Stedman  comes,  and  ask  his 
permission." 

"  That  is  a  very  proper  course  to  pursue,  and  I  highly 
approve  your  resolution.  But  from  what  we  both  know  of 
Mr.  Stedman's  sentiments,  it  seems  scarcely  probable  that 
he  will  grant  your  request.  You  will  do  well,  however,  to 
wait  and  see  him.  It  is  always  the  best,  when  there  are 
differences  of  opinion,  that  the  contending  parties  should 
meet  personally." 

Here  there  was  a  pause  of  a  minute  or  two,  after  which 
Mr.  Blunting  resumed,  with  great  politeness  of  manner,  — 

"  I  fear  you  must  need  refreshment,  sir,  if  you  have  come 
from  a  distance.  Your  own  residence,  as  I  am  informed,  is 
at  a  considerable  distance  from  this  place.  In  Mr.  Stedman's 
absence,  I  may  take  upon  myself  to  offer  you  something. 
Would  you  like  a  sandwich  and  a  glass  of  wine  .''  I  cannot 
offer  to  drink  wine  with  you,  being  myself  a  total  abstainer, 
but  as  I  know  that  you  use  it  in  great  moderation,  it  is  not 
against  my  conscience  to  ring  for  the  decanters." 

Philip  Stanburne  had  eaten  nothing  since  six  in  the 
morning,  and  willingly  accepted  the  clergyman's  proposition. 
Perhaps  he  accepted  it  the  more  willingly  that  he  felt  the 
need  of  all  his  courage  for  the  approaching  interview  with 
Mr.  Stedman.  When  the  decanters  and  the  sandwich  came, 
the  teetotal  parson  filled  a  wine-glass  with  formal  courtesy,  and 
young  Stanburne  could  not  help  feeling  a  certain  liking,  and 


Chap.  XXXII.        Mr.  Stedman  relents.  261 

even  admiration,  for  the  man.  In  truth,  without  being  a 
gentleman,  Mr.  Blunting  had  many  of  the  best  qualities  ^f 
a  gentleman.  He  was  as  brave  as  a  man  well  could  be, 
more  learned  than  most  members  of  his  own  learned  profes- 
sion, and  he  had  a  feminine  softness  of  manner. 

Whilst  Philip  was  engaged  with  his  sandwiches  and  sherry, 
he  heard  the  hall-door  open,  and  a  manly  step  on  the  stonf> 
floor.  Though  by  no  means  a  coward,  either  mora'ly  or 
physically,  he  had  a  sensitive  constitution,  and  his  pulse 
was  considerably  accelerated  by  the  knowledge  that  Mr. 
Stedman  had  entered  the  house.  The  heavy  steps  passed 
the  drawing-room  door,  and  became  gradually  less  and  less 
audible  as  they  ascended  the  stairs. 

"  Mr.  Stedman  is  gone  to  see  his  daughter,"  said  Mr. 
Blunting.  "  He  always  goes  straight  to  her  room  when 
he  returns  from  the  mill.  He  is  a  most  affectionate 
father." 

"  Where  his  prejudices  are  not  concerned,"  added  Philip 
Stanburne. 

"  Where  his  conscience  is  not  involved,  you  ought  to  say. 
His  objection  to  your  suit  is  strictly  a  conscientious  objec- 
tion. Personally,  he  likes  you,  and  your  position  would  be 
an  excellent  one  for  Miss  Alice ;  indeed  it  is  beyond  what 
she  might  have  hoped  for.  But  Mr.  Stedman  —  ah!  he  is 
coming  now."  • 

Philip  had  somewhat  hastily  finished  his  sandwich,  and 
resumed  his  first  seat.  Mr.  Stedman  opened  the  door  slowly, 
and  walked  in.  He  gave  no  sign  of  astonishment  on  seeing 
Philip  (who  rose  as  he  entered),  but  simply  bowed.  Then 
turning  to  Mr.  Blunting,  he  said,  quietly,  "  I  think  Alice 
would  be  glad  to  see  you  now,"  on  which  Mr.  Blunting  left 
the  room. 

There  was  an  expression  of  deep  sadness  on  John  Sted- 
man's  face  as  he  sat  down  and  looked  fixedly  at  the  table. 
His  eyes  looked  in   the  direction  of  the  decanters,  but  he 


262  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

evidently  did  not  see  them.  Suddenly  recalling  himself  to 
the  things  about  him,  he  saw  the  decanters  before  any  thing 
else,  and  said, — 

"  Have  you  had  a  glass  of  wine  ?  Take  another.  Take 
one  with  me." 

Astonished  at  this  reception,  Philip  Stanburne  held  his 
glass  whilst  John  Stedman  filled  it.  A  tremulous  hope  rose 
in  his  breast.  What  if  this  man  were  relenting  ?  what  if  the 
icy  barrier  were  gradually  thawing  away  t 

They  drank  the  wine  in  silence,  and  Mr.  Stedman  sat 
down  again.  "  Sit  down,"  he  said,  "  sit  down.  You  are 
come  to  talk  to  me  about  my  daughter.  You'  are  under  my 
roof,  and  are  my  guest.  I  will  listen  to  you  patiently,  and  I 
will  answer  you  plainly.    I  can  do  no  more  than  that,  can  I  ? " 

Philip  urged  his  suit  with  all  the  eloquence  at  his  command. 
John  Stedman  listened,  as  he  had  promised,  patiently ;  and 
when  his  guest's  eloquence  had  exhausted  itself,  he  spoke  in 
this  wise  :  — 

"  I  explained  my  views  to  you  on  a  former  occasion,  in 
Derbyshire.  It  is  no  use  going  over  all  that  ground  again. 
But  since  we  met  then,  the  position  of  matters  has  changed 
somewhat.  My  daughter  is  getting  nearer  to  her  majority  ; 
at  the  same  time,  you  and  she  have  made  an  engagement 
between  yourselves  without  my  sanction,  and  I  have  reason 
to  suspect  that  you  have  corresponded.  Miss  Margaret  Ani- 
son  has  been  here  rather  too  much  lately,  and  I  have  politely 
informed  Miss  Margaret  Anison  that  she  had  better  remain 
at  Arkwright  Lodge.  But  another  thing  has  altered  matters 
still  more  —  that  is,  my  daughter's  health.  I'm  very  much 
grieved  to  say  that  I  haven't  a  great  deal  of  confidence  in 
her  constitution.     She  gets  weaker  every  day." 

"  Mr.  Blunting  says  she  is  getting  stronger  again  now." 

"Stronger?  Well,  momentarily  she  may,  by  the  help  of 
tonics  and  stimulants,  but  it  will  not  last.  She  was  never 
really  strong,   but   if   I  'd   not   been    so    much   absorbed   in 


Chap.  XXXII.        Mr.  Stedmoii  relents.  263 

business,  I  might  have  taken  her  more  out,  and  given  her 
more  exercise.  I  am  ready  to  give  up  business  now.  I  'd 
give  up  any  thing  for  my  Alice.     Poor  Alice,  poor  Alice  ! " 

Philip  Stanburne  became  inoculated  with  Mr.  Stedman's 
openly  expressed  alarm.  "  Are  you  seriously  afraid,  sir  ? " 
he  asked,  with  intense  anxiety. 

Mr.  Stedman  looked  at  him  fixedly  and  seemed  absorbed 
in  his  own  thoughts.  "  You  love  my  girl,  young  man,  but 
you  don't  love  her  as  I  do.  Ever  since  I  have  got  this  fear 
into  my  heart  and  into  my  brain  I  can  neither  eat  nor  sleep. 
I  think  sometimes  I  shall  go  out  of  my  mind.  A  man  loves 
a  daughter,  Mr.  Stanburne,  differently  from  the  way  he  loves 
a  son.  If  I  'd  had  a  son,  I  shouldn't  have  felt  so  anxious, 
for  it  seems  that  a  lad  should  bear  illnesses  and  run  risks  ; 
but  a  tender  little  girl,  Philip  Stanburne  —  a  tender  little 
girl,  and  a  great  rough  fellow  like  me  to  take  care  of  her!" 

"  Is  there  any  change  in  your  feelings  towards  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  none  at  all.  I  always  liked  you  very  well,  and  I  like 
you  very  well  still.  There  isn't  a  young  fellow  anywhere 
who  would  suit  me  better,  if  it  weren't  for  your  being  such  a 
Papist.  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do  with  you,  if  you  like.  You 
give  me  an  honest  promise  not  to  marry  my  daughter  before 
twelve  months  are  out,  and  you  shall  see  her  every  day  if 
you  like.  And  if  you  can  cheer  her  up  and  make  her  get 
her  strength  back  again,  you  shall  have  her  and  welcome, 
Papist  or  no  Papist.  I  'd  let  her  marry  the  Pope  of  Rome 
before  I  'd  see  her  as  sad  as  she  has  been  during  the  last 
two  or  three  months.  Stop  your  dinner,  will  you  ?  That 
sandwich  is  nothing ;  our  dinner-time  's  one  o'clock,  and  it 's 
just  ten  minutes  to.  Alice  '11  get  up  when  she  knows  you  're 
here,  I  '11  warrant.'' 

The  reader  will  easily  believe  that  Philip  Stanburne  heard 
this  speech  with  a  joy  that  made  him  forget  his  anxiety  about 
Alice.  He  would  bring  gladness  to  her,  and  with  gladness, 
health.     How  bright  the  long  future  seemed  for  these  two, 


264  Wender holme.  Part  l 

true  lovers   always,  till   the  end  of  their  lives !     O  golden 
hope,  fair  promise  of  happy  years  ! 

But  the  doctor,  who  had  been  at  Chesnut  Hill  that  morn- 
ing, had  heard  a  little  faint  sound  in  his  polished  black 
stethoscope,  which  was  as  terrible  in  its  import  as  the  noise 
of  the  loudest  destroyers,  as  the  crack  of  close  thunder,  the 
roar  of  cannon,  the  hiss  of  the  hurricane,  the  explosion  of 
a  mine  1 


Chap.  XXXIII.    The  Saddest  in  the  Book.  265 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE   SADDEST   IN   THE  BOOK. 

LET  this  part  of  our  story  be  quickly  told,  for  it  is  very 
sad  !  Let  us  not  dwell  upon  this  sorrow,  and  analyze 
it,  and  anatomize  it,  and  lecture  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  merely 
a  study  for  the  intellect,  and  caused  the  heart  no  pain ! 

It  is  the  middle  of  winter.  The  streets  of  Sootythorn  are 
sloppy  with  blackened  snow,  the  sky  is  dreary  and  gray,  and 
dirtied  by  the  smoke  from  the  factory-chimneys.  Sootythorn 
is  dismal,  and  Manchester  is  all  in  a  fog.  The  cotton-spin- 
ners' train  that  goes  from  Sootythorn  to  Manchester  is  run- 
ning into  a  cloud  that  gets  ever  denser  and  yellower,  and  the 
whistle  screams  incessantly.  The  knees  of  the  travellers  are 
covered  with  "  Guardians,"  and  "  Couriers,"  and  "  Examin- 
ers," for  there  is  not  light  enough  to  read  comfortably.  One 
manufacturer  asks  his  neighbor  a  question  :  "  Where  is  John 
Stedman  of  Sootythorn  ?  He  uses  comin'  by  this  train,  and 
I  haven't  seen  him  as  I  cannot  tell  how  long." 

The  question  interests  us  also.     Where  is  John  Stedman  ? 

Not  at  Chesnut  Hill,  certainly.  There  is  nobody  at  Chesnut 
Hill  but  the  old  gardener  and  his  wife.  He  tends  the  plants 
in  the  hothouse,  and  keeps  them  comfortable  in  this  dreary 
Lancashire  winter  by  the  help  of  Lancashire  coal.  But  the 
house  is  all  shut  up,  except  on  the  rare  days  when  a  bit 
of  sunshine  comes,  and  the  old  woman  opens  the  shutters 
and  draws  up  the  blinds  to  let  the  bright  rays  in.  Every 
thing  seems  ready  for  Alice,  if  she  would  only  come.  There 
is   her   little    pretty   room    upstairs,    and    there   are   twenty 


266  Wender holme.  Part  r. 

things  of  hers  in  the  drawing-room  that  wait  for  their  absent 
mistress. 

Miss  Alice  is  far  away  in  the  south,  and  her  father  is  with 
her  —  and  there  is  a  third,  who  never  leaves  them. 

They  had  been  travelling  towards  Italy,  but  when  they 
reached  Avignon,  Alice  became  suddenly  worse,  and  they 
stayed  there  to  give  her  a  long  rest.  The  weather  happened 
to  be  very  pure  and  clear,  and  it  suited  her.  The  winter 
weather  about  Avignon  is  often  very  exhilarating  and  deli- 
cious, when  the  keen  frost  keeps  aloof,  and  the  dangerous 
winds  are  at  rest. 

As  for  saving  Alice  now,  not  one  of  the  three  had  a  vestige 
of  delusive  hope.  The  progress  of  the  malady  had  been  ter- 
ribly rapid ;  every  week  had  been  a  visible  advance  towards 
the  grave.  John  Stedman  had  hoped  little  from  the  very 
beginning,  Philip  Stanburne  had  hoped  much  longer,  and 
Alice  herself  longest  of  all.  But  none  of  the  three  hoped  any 
longer  now. 

When  Alice  found  herself  settled  at  Avignon,  she  felt  a 
strong  indisposition  to  go  farther.  The  railway  tired  and 
agitated  her,  and  the  dust  made  her  cough  more  painful. 
"  Papa,"  she  said  one  day,  as  she  sat  in  her  easy-chair  look- 
ing up  the  Rhone,  "I  think  we  cannot  do  better  than  just 
remain  where  we  are.  I  shall  not  keep  you  in  this  place  very 
long:.  No  climate  can  save  me  now,  and  this  weather  is  as 
pleasant  as  any  Italian  weather  could  be.  I  am  cowardly 
about  travelling,  and  it  troubles  me  to  think  of  the  journt-y 
before  us."  Mr.  Stedman  feebly  tried  to  encourage  Alice,  and 
talked  of  the  beautiful  Italian  coast  as  if  they  were  going  to 
see  it;  but  it  soon  became  tacitly  understood  that  Abce's 
travels  were  at  an  end. 

Mr.  Stedman,  who,  since  he  had  left  England  with  his 
daughter,  had  never  considered  expense  in  any  thing  in  which 
her  comfort  was,  or  seemed  to  be,  involved,  sought  out  a 
pleasanter  lodging  than  the  hotel  they  had  chosen  as  a  teiu- 


Chap. XXXIII.    The  Saddest  hi  the  Book.  267 

porary  resting-place.  He  found  a  charming  villa  on  the  slopes 
that  look  towards  Mount  Ventoux.  The  view  from  its  front 
windows  included  the  great  windings  of  the  Rhone  and  the 
beautiful  mountainous  distance ;  whilst  from  the  back  there 
was  a  very  near  view  of  Avignon,  strikingly  picturesque  in 
composition,  crowned  by  the  imposing  mass  of  the  Papal 
palace.  Alice  preferred  the  mountains,  and  chose  a  delightful 
little  salon  upstairs  as  her  own  sitting-room,  whilst  her  bed- 
room was  close  at  hand.  There  was  a  balcony,  and  she  liked  to 
sit  there  in  the  mild  air  during  the  warmest  and  brightest  hours. 

Mr.  Stedman's  powerful  and  active  nature  suffered  from 
their  monotonous  life  at  the  villa,  and  he  needed  exercise  both 
for  the  body  and  the  mind.  Alice  perceived  this,  and,  well 
knowing  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  father  to  do  any  thing 
except  in  her  service,  plotted  a  little  scheme  by  which  she 
hoped  to  make  him  take  the  exercise  and  the  interest  in  out- 
ward things  which  in  these  sad  days  were  more  than  ever 
necessary  to  him. 

"  Papa,"  she  said  one  day,  "  I  think  if  I  'd  a  little  regular 
work  to  do,  it  would  do  me  good.  I  wish  you  would  go 
geologizing  for  me,  and  bring  me  specimens.  You  might 
botanize  a  little,  too,  notwithstanding  the  time  of  the  year ;  it 
would  be  amusing  to  puzzle  out  some  of  the  rarer  plants.  It's 
a  very  curious  country,  isn't  it,  papa  ?  I  'm  sure,  if  I  were 
well,  we  should  find  a  great  deal  of  work  to  do  together  here." 
Then  she  began  to  question  him  about  the  geology  and  botany 
of  the  district,  and  made  him  buy  some  books  which  have 
been  written  upon  these  subjects  by  scientific  inhabitants  of 
Avignon.  Her  little  trick  succeeded.  Mr.  Stedman,  under 
the  illusion  that  he  was  working  to  please  his  poor  Alice, 
trudged  miles  and  miles  in  the  countiy,  and  extended  his  ex- 
plorations to  the  very  slopes  of  Mount  Ventoux  itself.  In  this 
way  he  improved  the  tone  of  his  physical  constitution,  and 
Alice  saw  with  satisfaction  that  it  would  be  better  able  to 
endure  the  impending  sorrow. 


268  Wenderkolme.  Part  i. 

He  had  long  ceased  to  treat  Philip  Stanburne  with  coldness 
or  distrust.  His  manner  with  his  young  friend  was  now  quite 
gentle,  and  even  affectionate,  tenderly  and  sadly  genial.  The 
one  point  on  which  they  disagreed  was  no  longer  a  sore  point 
for  either  of  them.  One  day,  when  they  were  together,  they 
met  a  religious  procession,  with  splendid  sacerdotal  costumes 
and  banners,  and  Philip  kneeled  as  the  host  was  carried  by. 
Their  conversation,  thus  briefly  interrupted,  was  resumed 
without  embarrassment,  and  Mr.  Stednian  asked  some  ques- 
tions about  the  especial  purpose  of  the  procession,  without  the 
slightest  perceptible  expression  of  contempt  for  it.  He  began 
to  take  an  interest  in  the  charities  of  the  place,  and  having 
visited  the  hospital,  said  he  thought  he  should  like  to  give 
something,  and  actually  left  a  bank-note  for  five  hundred 
francs,  though  the  managers  of  the  institution,  and  the  nurses, 
and  the  patients,  were  Romanists  without  exception.  Mean- 
while, he  read  his  Bible  very  diligently  every  day,  and  the 
prayers  of  the  little  household,  in  which  Philip  willingly 
joined. 

During  one  of  Mr.  Stedman's  frequent  absences  on  the 
little  scientific  missions  ordered  by  his  daughter  Alice,  she 
and  Philip  had  a  conversation  which  he  ever  afterwards 
remembered. 

"  Philip,"  she  said,  "  do  you  ever  think  much  about  what 
might  have  been,  if  just  one  circumstance  had  been  otherwise  ? 
I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  lately,  almost  constantly, 
about  what  might  have  been,  for  us  two,  if  my  health  had 
been  strong  and  good.  People  say  that  love  such  as  ours 
is  only  an  illusion  —  only  a  short  dream  —  but  I  cannot 
believe  that.  It  might  have  changed,  as  our  features  change, 
with  time,  but  it  would  have  remained  with  us  all  our  lives. 
Do  you  ever  fancy  us  a  quiet  respectable  old  couple,  living 
at  the  Tower,  and  coming  sometimes  to  Sootythorn  together? 
I  do.  I  fancy  that,  and  all  sorts  of  things  that  might  have 
been  —  and  some  of  them  would  have  been,  too  —  if  I  had 


Chap.  XXXIII.    The  Saddest  in  the  Book.  269 

lived.  There  's  one  thing  vexes  me,  and  that  is,  that  I  never 
saw  the  Tower.  I  wish  I  had  just  seen  it  once,  so  that  I 
might  fancy  our  life  there  more  truly.  How  glad  dear  papa 
would  have  been  to  come  and  stay  with  us,  and  botanize  and 
geologize  amongst  your  rocks  there!  You  would  have  let 
him  come,  wouldn't  you,  dear?  —  I  am  sure  you  would  have 
been  very  kind  to  him.  You  will  be  kind  to  him,  won't  you, 
my  love,  when  he  has  no  longer  his  poor  little  Lissy  to  take 
care  of  him  ?  Don't  leave  him  altogether  by  himself.  I  am 
afraid  his  old  age  will  be  very  sad  and  lonely.  It  grieves  me 
to  think  of  that,  for  he  will  be  old  in  a  few  years  now,  and 
his  poor  little  daughter  will  not  be  near  him  to  keep  him 
cheerful.  Fancy  him  coming  home  every  evening  from  the 
mill,  and  nobody  but  servants  in  the  house  !  Go  and  stay 
with  him  sometimes,  dear,  at  Chesnut  Hill,  and  get  him  to 
go  to  the  Tower,  and  you  will  sometimes  talk  together  about 
Alice,  and  it  will  do  you  both  good." 

Philip  had  kept  up  manfully  as  long  as  he  was  able,  but 
the  vivid  picture  that  these  words  suggested  of  a  world  with- 
out Alice  was  too  much  for  him  to  bear,  and  he  burst  into 
passionate  tears.  As  for  Alice,  she  remained  perfectly  calm, 
but  when  she  spoke  again  it  was  with  an  ineffable  tenderness. 
She  took  his  hand  in  hers,  and  drew  him  towards  her,  and 
kissed  him.  Again  and  again  she  kissed  him,  smoothing  his 
hair  caressingly  with  her  fingers  —  gentle  touches  that  thrilled 
through  his  whole  being.  "  You  don't  know,  my  darling," 
she  said,  "  how  much  I  love  you,  and  how  miserable  it  made 
me  when  I  thought  we  must  be  separated  in  this  world.  It 
isn't  so  hard  to  be  separated  by  death ;  but  to  live  both  of 
us  in  the  same  world,  seeing  the  same  sun,  and  moon,  and 
stars,  even  the  same  hills,  and  not  to  be  together,  buc  always 
living  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  each  other,  and  yet  so 
near  —  it  would  have  been  a  trial  beyond  my  strength  !  And 
isn't  it  something,  my  love,  to  be  together  as  we  are  now  for 
the  last  few  weeks  and  days?     You  don't  know  how  happy 


270  Wcndcrholme,  Part  i. 

it  makes  me  to  see  you  and  papa  getting  on  so  nicely  as  you 
do.  Isn't  he  nice,  now?  I  don't  believe  he  thinks  a  bit  the 
worse  of  you  for  being  a  Catholic.  We  shall  all  meet  again, 
darling  —  shall  we  not? — in  the  same  heaven,  and  then  we 
shall  have  the  same  perfect  knowledge,  and  our  errors  and 
differences  will  be  at  an  end  for  ever." 

She  was  a  good  deal  exhausted  with  saying  this,  and  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  closing  her  eyes  for  a  while.  Philip  gradu- 
ally recovered  his  usual  melancholy  tranquillity,  and  they  sat 
thus  without  speaking,  he  holding  both  her  hands  in  his,  and 
gently  chafing  and  caressing  them.  He  had  not  courage  to 
speak  to  Alice  —  indeed,  in  all  their  saddest  and  most  serious 
conversations,  the  courage  was  mainly  on  her  side. 

Whilst  they  were  sitting  thus,  the  sky  became  suddenly 
overcast,  and  there  came  a  few  pattering  drops  of  rain. 
Alice  started  suddenly,  and  seemed  to  be  agitated  by  an 
unknown  terror.  She  grasped  Philip's  hand  in  a  nervous 
way,  and  complained  of  a  strange  suffering  and  foreboding. 
"  I  felt  so  calm  and  peaceful  all  the  morning,"  she  said;  "  I 
wish  I  could  feel  so  now." 

The  agitation  increased,  and  it  was  evident  to  Philip  that 
a  great  change  had  taken  place.  Alice  threw  her  arms  round 
him,  and  clasped  him  to  her.  "  O  Philip  !  "  she  cried,  wildly, 
"don't  leave  me  now  —  don't  leave  me  even  for  a  minute! 
Stay,  darling,  stay  ;  it  is  coming,  coming  !  " 

The  pattering  of  the  rain  had  ceased.  It  had  been  noth- 
ing but  a  few  drops  —  scarcely  even  a  shower  —  and  it  had 
ceased. 

But  the  air  was  not  clearer  after  the  rain.  On  the  contrary, 
it  had  been  clearer  before  it  than  it  was  now.  The  snowy 
summit  of  Mount  Ventoux  was  hidden  in  an  opaque,  thick 
atmosphere  ;  mist  it  was  not,  as  we  northerns  understand 
mist,  but  a  substantial   thickening  of  the  air. 

Soon  there  was  the  same  thickening,  the  same  opacity  in 
the  atmosphere  of   the  remote   plain  that  stretched  to  the 


Chap. XXXIII.    The  Saddest  in  the  Book.  271 

mountain's  foot.     It  was  invisible  now,  the  Mount  Ventoux, 
the  Mountain  of  the  Winds. 

And  as  the  plain  grew  dark  the  Rhone  as  suddenly  whitened. 
■It  whitened  and  whitened,  nearer  and  nearer  Avignon  ;  then 
a  dull  distant  roar  became  audible,  steadily  increasing.  A 
violent  brief  squall  shook  the  villa.  What !  so  frightened 
already  ?     Poor  children,  it  is  nothing  yet ! 

Over  the  terrified  plain,  over  the  foaming  river,  comes  the 
Mistral,  careering  in  his  strength  !  Well  for  you,  walls  of 
Avignon,  that  you  were  built  for  the  shocks  of  battle  !  well 
for  thee,  most  especially,  O  palace  of  the  transplanted  Papacy, 
that  thy  fortress-heights  were  erected  less  for  pleasure  than 
for  resistance  ! 

Louder  and  louder,  nearer  and  nearer !  How  the  trees 
bend  like  fishing-rods  !  Crash,  crash  —  they  break  before 
the  tempest.  WMiat  a  clatter  against  the  windows  !  It  is 
a  volley  of  pebbles  that  the  Mistral  carries  with  it  as  a 
torrent  does.  Bang,  bang — the  shutters  are  torn  off  their 
iron  hinges  and  pitched  nobody  knows  where  —  into  the 
court,  on  the  roof-top,  it  may  be,  or  into  the  neighbor's 
garden  ! 

The  intensity  of  the  noise  made  all  human  voices  inau- 
dible. The  Mistral  likes  to  make  an  uproar  —  it  is  his 
amusement,  when  he  comes  to  Avignon  from  his  mountain. 
And  he  whistles  at  once  in  a  thousand  chimneys,  as  a  boy 
whistles  in  two  steel  keys ;  and  he  makes  such  a  clatter 
with  destroying  things,  that  the  most  insured  house-property 
leaves  no  peace  to  its  possessor.  But  straight  in  the  midst 
of  his  path  rise  the  towers  of  the  fortress-palace,  and  Peter 
Obreri,  its  architect,  knows  in  the  world  of  spirits  that  they 
resist  the  Mistral  yet. 

But  alas  for  our  poor  little  Alice  !  This  wind  does  not 
suit  her  at  all ;  this  unceasing,  this  wearisome  wind  —  this 
agitating,  terrible  wind  !  She  did  not  fear  death  before,  in 
the  calm  serene  weather,  when  it  seem.ed  that  her  soul  might 


272  Wenderholme.  Part  i. 

rise  in  the  blue  ether,  and  be  borne  by  floating  angels.  But 
to  go  out  into  the  bleak,  stern  tempest  —  to  leave  his  encir- 
cling arms,  and  be  dashed  no  one  knows  whither  along  the 
desolate,  unfamiliar  Provence,  with  twigs,  and  dead  leaves, 
and  pebbles,  and  that  choking  cloud  of  sand  ! 

"  Forgive  me  these  foolish  fancies,"  she  prayed,  from  the 
depths  of  this  horror.  "  My  soul  knows  her  way  to  the  havea 
of  thy  rest,  O  Lord,  my  Guide  and  my  Redeemer  1 " 


Chap.  XXXIV.     Jacob  Ogden  free  again »  273 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

JACOB    OGDEN    FREE    AGAIN. 

EARLY  in  the  month  of  February  there  came  a  black- 
edged  letter  to  Arkwright  Lodge,  with  a  French  stamp 
upon  it.  The  letter  was  from  Philip  Stanburne,  and  it  an- 
nounced Alice  Stedman's  death. 

Two  days  after  the  arrival  of  that  letter  another  letter 
arrived  at  Milend  for  Jacob  Ogden.  It  bore  the  Whittlecup 
post-mark,  and  had  an  exact  outward  resemblance  to  several 
other  letters  which  had  come  from  the  same  place,  but  its 
contents  were  of  a  new  character. 

Miss  Anison  expressed  her  regret  that  in  consequence  of 
Mr.  Jacob  Ogden's  neglect,  of  his  readiness  to  postpone  his 
visits  on  the  slightest  pretexts,  of  the  rarity  and  coldness  of 
his  letters,  she  felt  compelled,  from  a  due  regard  to  her  own 
happiness,  to  put  an  end  to  the  engagement  which  had  existed 
between  them. 

The  accusations  in  this  letter  were  perfectly  well  founded, 
though  it  is  quite  certain  that  they  would  never  have  been 
made  if  Philip  Stanburne's  communication  had  been  edged 
with  silver  instead  of  black.  Margaret  Anison  had  remarked 
with  secret  satisfaction  that  Jacob  Ogden's  behavior  as  a 
lover  gave  her  good  reasons  for  retreating  from  her  engage- 
ment, whenever  she  might  determine  on  that  decisive  step ; 
but  in  the  mean  while  she  had  never  reproached  him  with  it, 
had  never  appeared  aware  of  it  when  he  did  come,  but  always 
received  him  in  the  same  uniformly  gracious  way,  as  if  he  had 

18 


2  74  Wenderholme.  part  i 

been  the  most  assiduous  of  adorers.  She  had  kept  this  accu- 
sation of  negligence  to  be  used  against  him  whenever  it  might 
be  convenient  to  throw  the  blame  of  a  rupture  upon  him;  but 
if  she  had  finally  decided  to  marry  him,  this  and  all  other 
faults  would  have  been  affectionately  overlooked.  It  had  been 
highly  convenient  to  let  him  sink  deeper  and  deeper  in  that 
sin  of  negligence,  till  at  last,  from  mere  carelessness  and  an 
aversion  to  all  letter-writing  that  was  not  upon  business,  he 
had  actually  reached  that  depth  in  crime  that  he  no  longer 
observed  the  common  forms  of  society,  and  did  not  even  write 
a  line  of  apology  or  excuse.  Margaret  never  expected  him  to 
be  attentive  to  her  as  a  husband  :  she  intended  to  spend  his 
money,  and,  so  long  as  that  was  forthcoming,  cared  little 
about  Jacob  Ogden's  manners.  But  it  was  charming  to  be 
able  to  back  out  of  her  engagement,  now  that  Alice  was  dead, 
and  do  it  in  a  dignified  and  honorable  manner.  For  of  all 
sins  that  a  lover  can  commit,  the  chief  is  the  sin  of  neglect ; 
and  in  this  case  any  competent  and  just  jury  would  have  pro- 
nounced the  verdict  "guilty." 

To  this  letter  Jacob  Ogden  made  no  reply.  His  feelings 
on  receiving  it  were,  first,  the  most  unfeigned  astonishment 
(for  he  thought  he  had  been  very  attentive,  and  that  "  courtin  ' " 
had  absorbed  far  too  much  of  his  time)  ;  next,  a  paroxysm  of 
indignation,  with  a  sense  of  injury ;  and  then,  when  this  sub- 
sided, a  sense  of  relief  so  exquisite,  so  delicious,  and  so  com- 
plete, that  nobody  can  have  any  idea  of  it  unless  at  some 
period  of  his  existence  a  wearing  and  persistent  anxiety  has 
been  suddenly  removed  for  ever.  The  love  of  Margaret  Ani- 
son  had  been  one  of  those  masterful  passions  which  sometimes 
force  the  most  prudent  men  to  folly.  He  had  made  his  offer 
in  the  height  of  his  temporary  insanity,  but  after  the  engage- 
ment had  been  entered  upon,  his  old  self  had  gradually 
returned  ;  and  though  he  was  fully  determined  to  "go  through 
with  it,"  as  a  business  which  had  to  be  done,  he  by  no  means 
looked  forward  to  the  conjugal  state  as  an  improvement  upon 


Chap.  XXXIV.    J ac ob  Ogdeii  free  again.  275 

his  accustomed  life.  It  was  like  embarking  on  an  unknown 
and  perilous  sea,  in  utter  ignorance  of  the  art  of  navigation, 
and  that  sea  might  be  a  sea  of  troubles.  The  complex  details 
of  married  life,  its  endless  little  duties,  were  perplexing  to  a 
man  whose  time  and  thoughts  were  already  taken  up  by  the 
government  of  a  heavy  business,  and  the  care  of  an  increasing 
estate.  And  now  to  escape  from  these  new  and  unfamiliar 
troubles  —  to  remain  in  the  old  quiet  life  at  Milend  —  to  have 
full  control  over  his  own  expenditure,  with  no  female  criticism 
or  interference — to  see  his  fortune  growing  and  growing 
without  sons  to  establish  or  daughters  to  dower,  or  an  ex- 
pensive houseful  of  servants  to  eat  the  bank-notes  in  his 
pocket-book  like  so  many  nattering  mice,  —  ah!  it  was  sweet 
to  him  to  think  of  this  in  his  innermost  and  sincerest  self ! 
He  had  loved  his  bachelor  life  well  enough  before,  but  he 
had  never  felt  the  full  luxury  of  its  independence  as  he  did 
now ! 

Jacob  Ogden  enjoyed  a  privilege  highly  favorable  to  hap- 
piness, but  not  so  favorable  to  moral  or  intellectual  growth. 
He  lived  at  peace  with  himself,  and  looking  back  on  his  life, 
he  approved  of  its  whole  course,  with  the  single  exception  of 
that  hour  of  folly  at  Whittlecup.  He  felt  and  believed  that 
no  man  could  be  wiser  or  more  perfect  than  he  was.  When 
he  humbly  called  his  faculties  "  common-sense,"  he  by  no 
means  understood  the  word  as  meaning  a  sense  which  he  had 
in  common  with  others,  but  rather  a  special  faculty,  to  himself 
vouchsafed  by  the  bounteous  gift  of  nature.  He  lived  in  ab- 
solute independence  of  the  good  opinion  of  others,  because 
his  mind  was  at  peace  with  itself  —  because  he  always  man- 
fully did  to-day  what  he  was  sure  to  approve  to-morrow, 
or  ten  years  after  to-morrow.  Am  I  painting  the  portrait 
of  a  man  of  pre-eminent  virtues  ?  Not  exactly,  but  of  a 
man  who  would  have  been  pre-eminently  virtuous,  or  pre- 
eminently learned,  if  virtue  or  knowledge  had  been  his 
ideal.     For  he  had  a  manly  resolution,  a  steady  unflinching 


276  Wender holme.  part  i. 

determination,  to  live  up  to  the  standard  which  he  fixed  for 
himself.  And  the  inward  peace  which  he  enjoyed  was  due 
to  his  obedience  to  the  laws  of  his  own  nature,  which  thus 
ever  remained  in  harmony  with  itself  in  serene  strength  and 
efficiency. 

This  peace  had  for  a  while  been  lost  to  him,  and  he  had 
felt  a  strange  change  and  diminution  in  the  inward  satisfac- 
tions. His  communings  with  himself  had  lost  their  old 
sweetness,  and  he  no  longer  masticated  the  cud  of  content- 
ment in  the  fair  pastures  of  reflection  and  imagination.  To 
go  back  to  those  happy  pastures  once  more  —  to  chew  that 
sweet  cud  again,  after  months  of  privation  —  what  a  deep, 
strengthening,  cheering,  encouraging,  replenishing  delight  it 
was ! 

Yet  there  was  one  drawback  to  the  plenitude  of  Ogden's 
happiness,  even  though  he  had  escaped  the  misery  of  the 
wedding-day.  That  new  mansion  had  been  begun,  he  had 
spent  ;^4oo  upon  it  already,  and  spoilt  a  pretty  meadow,  and 
he  had  spent  some  money  on  presents  for  Margaret  —  not 
very  much,  for  his  ideas  on  the  subject  of  gift-making  were 
not  very  large  ideas,  yet  still  enough  to  plague  and  torment 
him,  for  the  loss  of  a  sovereign  would  do  that.  To  be  jilted 
did  not  trouble  him  much,  but  to  have  been  cheated  into 
wasting  his  money  !  that  thought  would  not  let  him  rest.  It 
followed  and  harassed  him  wherever  he  went,  and  it  was  the 
cause  of  the  following  letter,  which  was  received  by  Mr. 
Joseph  Anison  :  — 

"  Sir,  —  I  am  instructed  by  my  client,  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden,  to 
lay  before  you  the  following  statement  of  facts.  Your  daugh- 
ter, Miss  Margaret  Anison,  by  a  letter  bearing  date ,  and 

which  is  in  our  possession,  accepted  his  proposal  of  marriage, 
and  promised  marriage  ;  which  promise  she  now,  by  a  letter 

bearing  date ,   refuses  to   execute.     In  consequence  of 

her  promise,  and  in  conformity  with  her  desires,  our  client  has 


Chap. XXXIV.     J ac ob  Ogdeii  free  again,  277 

been  led  into  considerable  expense,  especially  in  the  erection 
of  a  mansion,  of  which  Miss  Anison  herself  selected  the  site. 
The  works  were  immediately  stopped  when  it  became  known 
to  our  client  that  Miss  Anison  had  determined  upon  a  breach 
of  promise,  but  a  heavy  sum  had  been  already  expended, 
which,  so  far  as  our  client  is  concerned,  is  money  utterly 
thrown  away.  We  beg  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that 
our  client  and  his  mother  offered  another  most  commodious 
and  suitable  residence  to  Miss  Anison,  situated  at  Milend, 
and  that  she  declined  this,  and  induced  our  client  to  com- 
mence the  erection  of  a  new  and  costly  mansion  on  a  site 
which  he  would  never  have  selected  for  himself.  We  there- 
fore claim  for  our  client  damages  to  the  amount  of  one  thou- 
sand pounds  (;^i,ooo),  and  beg  to  inform  you,  that  unless  this 
sum  is  paid  before  the  expiration  of  one  calendar  month  from 
this  date,  we  shall  institute  a  suit  for  breach  of  promise  of 
marriage,  and  claim  damages  on  that  score  to  a  far  heavier 
amount.  The  present  claim,  we  desire  it  to  be  understood,  is 
not  made  on  the  ground  of  breach  of  promise,  but  is  merely 
a  claim  for  compensation  on  account  of  outlay  which  our 
client  has  been  induced  to  incur.  Our  client  has  no  desire  to 
push  matters  to  the  extremity  of  a  public  exposure,  but  will 
not  shrink  from  doing  so  if  his  present  just  claim  is  refused. 
"  I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

"Jonas  Hanby." 

"You  may  decide  for  yourself,  Margaret,  said  Mr.  Anison, 
"  whether  you  prefer  that  I  should  pay  this  out  of  your  for- 
tune, or  stand  an  action  for  breach  of  promise.  It  is  not 
usual  to  bring  actions  of  this  sort  against  women,  but  Ogden 
is  a  most  determined  fellow,  and  he  doesn't  care  much  for 
what  people  may  say.  He  will  bring  his  action  if  we  don't 
send  him  a  cheque,  and  I  don't  think  such  an  action  would 
be  very  pleasant  to  you.  Considering  circumstances,  too, 
especially  the  building  of  that  new  house,  I  am  inclined  to 


278  Wender holme.  Part  i. 

think  that  he  would  get  rather  heavy  damages,  certainly  at 
least  as  much  as  he  is  asking  for.  Such  an  action  would- 
make  a  tremendous  noise,  and  we  should  be  in  all  the  news- 
papers. We  must  consider  your  sisters,  too,  who  wouldn't 
be  much  benefited  by  publicity  of  this  kind.  In  short,  my 
advice  is  to  send  the  cheque." 

The  cheque  was  accordingly  sent  to  Mr.  Hanby,  and  duly 
acknowledged.  The  presents  had  been  returned  a  few  days 
before.  These  last  had  been  purchased  of  a  jeweller  in  St. 
Ann's  Square,  Manchester,  who  took  them  back  in  exchange 
for  an  excellent  gentleman's  watch  and  a  big  cameo  brooch. 
The  watch  went  into  Jacob  Ogden's  own  fob,  and  the  brooch 
adorned  his  already  sufficiently  ornamented  mother.  All 
things  considered,  Jacob  Ogden  now  felt  that  he  could  look 
back  upon  the  whole  business  with  a  mind  at  ease.  He  had 
done  his  duty  by  himself.  After  deducting  the  outlay  on  the 
house,  and  the  outlay  necessary  for  restoring  the  field  to  its 
pristine  verdure,  he  found  that  there  remained  to  him  a  clear 
surplus  of  four  hundred  and  fifteen  pounds  seven  shillings  and 
twopence,  which  he  entered  in  the  column  of  profits.  *'  It 's 
been  rather  a  good  business  for  once,  has  this  courtin', "  said 
Jacob  to  himself  ;  "  but  it 's  devilish  risky,  and  there  's  no- 
body '11  catch  me  at  it  again.  If  she  'd  nobbut  stuck  to  me, 
she  'd  'ave  wenly  ruined  me." 

So,  when  the  walls  of  the  mansion  that  was  to  have  been 
were  levelled  with  the  ground,  and  the  foundations  buried 
under  the  earth  that  they  might  be  no  more  seen,  Jacob  Ogden 
buried  with  them  the  thought  and  idea  of  marriage  ;  and  the 
grass  grew  on  the  field  that  had  been  so  torn,  and  cut,  and 
burdened,  and  disturbed  by  the  masons  and  laborers  who  had 
been  there. 

As  the  field  grew  level  and  green  again  just  as  it  used  to 
be,  so  flourished  the  mind  of  Jacob  Ogden  in  serene  and 
productive  life.  But  as  beneath  the  field  —  beneath  the  waving 
of  the  rich  grass  —  there  still  lay  the  plan  of  the  house  that 


Chap.  XXXIV.      J ac ob  Ogaen  free  again.  279 

was  to  have  been,  traced  out  in  stony  foundations,  so  in  the 
mind  of  its  owner  there  lay  hidden  a  stony  memory  of  the 
plans  of  this  strange  year  ;  and  though  the  surface  was  per- 
fectly restored,  there  were  hard  places  under  his  happiness 
thf.t  had  not  been  there  before. 


28o  WeiiderJiolme.  Part  l 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LITTLE    JACOB'S    EDUCATION. 

THE  rupture  between  Jacob  Ogden  and  Miss  Anison 
had  an  immediate  effect  upon  the  fortunes  of  a  young 
friend  of  ours,  who  has  for  a  long  time  been  very  much  in 
the  background.  Little  Jacob  began  to  occupy  a  larger  and 
larger  place  in  his  uncle's  thoughts.  For,  though  Uncle 
Jacob  had  formerly  always  intended,  in  a  general  way,  to 
remain  a  bachelor,  this  had  been  nothing  more  than  a  sort 
of  intellectual  preference  for  bachelorhood,  deduced  from  his 
general  views  of  life,  and  especially  from  his  dominant  anx- 
iety to  make  a  fortune.  But  his  objections  to  matrimony 
were  no  longer  of  this  mild  kind.  Like  a  wild  animal  that 
has  once  felt  the  noose  of  the  trapper  round  its  neck,  and 
yet  succeeded  in  freeing  itself,  he  had  conceived  a  horror  of 
the  snare  which  was  incomparably  more  active  and  intense 
than  the  vague  alarms  of  the  inexperienced.  His  former 
ideas  about  marriage  had  been  purely  negative.  He  had  no 
intention  to  marry,  and  there  was  the  end  of  his  reflections 
on  the  matter.  But  now  his  preference  for  celibacy  had 
taken  the  shape  of  a  passionate  and  unalterable  resolution. 

The  increase  of  his  fortune,  which  might  henceforth  be 
surely  relied  on,  led  him  to  think  a  good  deal  about  the 
little  boy  at  Twistle  Farm,  who  was  most  probably  destined 
to  inherit  it ;  and  he  determined  to  use  a  legitimate  influence 
over  his  brother  Isaac,  so  that  little  Jacob  might  be  educated 
in  a  manner  suitable  to  his  future  position. 

We  have  said   that  Jacob  Ogden  was  perfectly  satisfied 


Chap.  XXXV.     Little  yacoU s  Education.  281 

with  himself,  and  that  knowledge  was  not  his  ideal.  But 
although  this  is  true,  his  views  were  really  larger  than  the 
reader  may  have  hitherto  suspected.  He  considered  himself 
perfect  in  his  place  ;  but  as  little  Jacob  would  probably  have 
a  very  different  place  in  the  world,  he  would  need  different 
perfections.  The  qualities  needed  for  making  a  large  fortune 
were,  in  Jacob  Ogden's  view,  the  finest  qualities  that  a  human 
being  can  possess,  and  he  knew  that  he  possessed  them  ;  but 
then  there  were  certain  ornaments  and  accomplishments 
which  were  necessary  to  a  rich  gentleman,  and  which  the 
manufacturer  had  not  had  time  to  acquire.  He  was  not 
foolish  enough  to  torment  himself  with  regrets  that  he  did 
not  know  Latin  and  Greek ;  he  had  none  of  the  silly  humil- 
ities of  weak  minds  that  are  perpetually  regretting  their 
"  deficiencies."  Whatever  it  was  necessary  for  his  main  pur- 
pose that  he  should  know,  he  always  resolutely  set  himself 
to  learn,  and,  by  strenuous  application,  mastered  ;  what  was 
unnecessary  for  his  purpose,  he  remained  contentedly  ignorant 
about.  The  customary  pedantries  of  the  world,  its  shallow 
pretension  to  scholarship,  never  humiliated  him.  He  sus- 
pected, perhaps,  that  genuine  classical  acquirement  was  much 
rarer  than  the  varnish  of  pseudo-scholarship,  and  he  had  not 
that  deferential  faith  in  gentlemen's  Latin  and  Greek  which 
is  sometimes  found  in  the  uneducated.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  as  he  had  learned  every  thing  that  was  necessary  to 
a  plodding  Shayton  cotton-spinner,  so  he  was  determined 
that  little  Jacob  should  learn  every  thing  necessary  to  a 
perfect  English  gentleman.  He  had  not  read  the  sentence 
of  Emerson,  "  We  like  to  see  every  thing  do  its  office  after 
its  kind,  whether  it  be  a  milk-cow  or  a  rattlesnake  \ "  but  the 
sentiment  in  it  was  his  own.  His  strong  sense  perceived 
that  so  long  as  men  hold  different  situations  in  the  world, 
their  preparatory'  training  must  be  different ;  and  that,  as  a 
young  pigeon  must  learn  to  fly,  and  a  young  terrier  to  catch 
rats,  so  the  youthful  heir  of  a  splendid  fortune,  and  the  boy 


282  WcTiderholme.  Part  i. 

who  has  his  fortune  to  make,  ought  to  receive  respectively 
a  celestial  and  a  terrestrial  training. 

For  Jacob  Ogden,  himself  a  terrestrial,  knew  that  there 
was  a  heaven  above  him  —  the  heaven  of  aristocracy!  There 
dwelt  superior  beings,  in  golden  houses,  like  gods  together, 
far  above  the  ill-used  race  of  men  that  cleave  the  soil  and 
store  their  yearly  dues.  There  is  something  ludicrous,  if  it 
were  not  pathetic  and  painful,  in  the  self-abasement  of  a  man 
so  strong  and  resolute  as  Ogden  before  a  heaven  whose  saints 
and  angels  were  only  titled  ladies  and  gentlemen,  mainly 
occupied  in  amusing  themselves ;  but  to  him  it  was  the 
World  of  the  Ideal.  And  this  religion  had  one  great  advan- 
tage —  it  kept  him  a  little  humbler  than  he  ever  would  have 
been  without  it.  Great  was  the  successful  cotton-spinner  in 
his  eyes,  but  there  were  beings  cast  by  nature  in  a  nobler 
mould.  For  Jacob  Ogden  actually  believed,  in  all  sincerity 
and  simplicity,  that  there  was  the  same  natural  difference 
between  a  loid  and  a  plebeian  that  there  is  between  a  thor- 
ough-bred and  a  cart-horse.  This  superstition,  though  founded 
on  a  dim  sense  of  the  natural  differences  which  do  exist,  erred 
in  making  them  the  obedient  servants  of  the  artificial  differ- 
ences. There  are,  no  doubt,  thorough-breds  and  cart-horses 
amongst  mankind,  and  the  popular  phraseology  would  imply 
that  there  are  also  asses  ;  but  these  natural  differences  seem 
to  be  independent  of  title  altogether,  and  dependent  even 
upon  fortune  only  so  far  as  it  may  help  or  hinder  their 
development.  The  superstition  that  lords,  quA  lords,  are 
wiser,  and  better,  and  braver,  and  more  respectable  than 
other  people,  was  more  prevalent  in  Shayton  than  it  is  in 
places  where  lords  are  more  frequently  seen. 

Now,  with  this  deeply  rooted  Anglican  superstition  about 
the  heaven  of  aristocracy  and  the  angels  that  dwell  therein. 
Uncle  Jacob  naturally  desired  that  his  nephew  should  be 
qualified  for  admission  there.  And  he  had  a  devout  belief 
that  the   states  of   probation   for  a  young  soul   aspiring  to 


Chap.  XXXV.      Little  Jacob's  Education.  283 

celestial    bliss    were    terms   of    residence    at   Eton   and    at 
Oxford. 

Little  Jacob  had  continued  his  custom  of  staying  at  Milend 
every  Sunday,  that  he  might  benefit  by  the  services  of  our 
friend  Mr.  Prigley  in  the  pew  at  Shayton  Church.  Isaac 
Ogden,  though  he  had  come  to  church  three  Sundays  in 
succession  after  the  recovery  of  little  Jacob,  and  had  at- 
tended divine  service  regularly  as  an  officer  of  militia  (being 
in  that  character  compulsible  thereunto  by  martial  law),  had, 
I  regret  to  say,  relapsed  into  his  old  habits  of  negligence  at 
Twistle  Farm,  and  spent  the  Sunday  there  in  following  his 
own  devices.  It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  he  did 
little  harm,  on  that  day  or  any  other,  to  himself  or  any- 
body else.  He  remained  religiously  faithful  to  his  vow  of 
total  abstinence,  and  spent  several  hours  every  day  in  giving 
a  sound  elementary  education  to  his  son. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  Isaac,"  said  Uncle  Jacob  one  day 
when  his  elder  brother  had  come  on  one  of  his  rare  visits  to 
Milend  —  "I'll  tell  you  what  it  is;  if  you'll  just  let  me 
have  my  own  way  about  th'  eddication  o'  th'  young  un,  I  '11 
leave  him  all  my  brass,  and,  what 's  more,  I  don't  mind  payin' 
for  his  schoolin'  beside.  I  want  nowt  nobbut  what 's  reet, 
but  I  '11  make  sich  a  gentleman  on  him  as  there  isn't  i'  o 
Shayton  nor  i'  o  Manchester  nother.  And  to  start  wi',  I 
reckon  nowt  of  his  stoppin'  up  at  Twistle  Farm  same  as  he 
is  doin'  an'  idlin'  away  auve*  his  time.  Let  him  live  at 
Milend  regular  for  a  twelvemonth,  and  go  to  Prigley  six  hour 
every  day,  and  then  send  him  to  Eton  —  that 's  where  gentle- 
folk sends  their  lads  to.  And  afther  that,  we  '11  send  him  to 
Hoxford  College." 

•  Half. 


284  Wenderholme.  Part  i 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

A    SHORT    CORRESPONDENCE. 

NO  sooner  had  Mr.  Prigley  got  into  the  full  swing  of  work 
with  his  young  pupil,  than  he  received  a  letter  from  our 
friend  Colonel  Stanburne  of  VVenderholme  :  — 

"My  dear  Mr.  Prigley,  —  It  would  give  me  great  pleas- 
ure, and  be  of  great  use  to  me  besides,  if  you  could  come  over 
here  and  stay  with  me  for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks.  We  got 
the  house  covered  in  just  before  the  winter,  and  the  works 
have  been  going  forward  since  in  some  parts  of  the  interior, 
but  there  are  some  points  about  internal  fittings,  especially 
in  the  principal  rooms,  that  I  and  my  architect  don't  agree 
about.  Now,  what  I  most  want  is,  the  advice  of  a  competent 
unprofessional  friend  ;  and  as  I  know  that  you  have  studied 
architecture  much  more  deeply  than  I  have  ever  done  myself, 
I  look  to  you  to  help  me.  It  will  probably  be  a  long  time 
before  the  house  is  finished,  but  now  is  the  time  to  decide 
about  the  interior  arrangements.  Helena  is  at  Lord  Adi- 
sham's,  and  so  I  am  left  alone  with  the  architect.  I  wish  you 
would  come.  He  seems  to  want  me  to  adopt  a  different  style 
for  the  finishing  of  the  interior  to  that  which  was  generally 
prevalent  when  Wenderholme  was  built.  Now  my  notion  is 
(^puisque  Toccasioti  se  presente)  to  make  the  place  as  homoge- 
neous as  possible. 

"  Do  come.  You  will  stay  here  at  the  Cottage.  I  am  living 
with  my  mother. 

"  Very  faithfully  yours,  John  Stanburne." 


Chap.  XXXVI.       A  SJiort  Corresponde7ice.  285 

To  this  letter,  which  offered  to  Mr.  Prigley's  mind  the  most 
tempting  of  all  possible  baits,  for  he  dearly  loved  to  dabble  in 
architecture  and  restorations,  the  reverend  gentleman,  being 
bound  by  his  engagement  with  the  Ogdens,  could  only  regret- 
fully answer  :  — 

"  My  dear  Colonel  Stanburne,  —  I  should  have  accepted 
your  kind  invitation  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  the  more 
so  that  I  take  a  deep  interest  in  the  restoration  of  your  noble 
old  mansion,  but  unfortunately  I  have  a  private  pupil  whom  I 
cannot  leave.  It  is  young  Jacob  Ogden,  whose  father  is  one 
of  your  militia  officers. 

"  Yours  most  truly,  E.  Prigley." 

But  by  return  of  post  Mr.  Prigley  got  the  following  short 
reply :  — 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Prigley,  —  The  best  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty will  be,  to  bring  little  Jacob  with  you.  I  know  little 
Jacob  very  well,  and  he  knows  me.  Give  my  compliments  to 
his  father  if  you  have  to  ask  his  permission,  and  tell  him  we 
will  take  good  care  of  his  little  boy. 

"  Yours  very  faithfully,  J.  Stanburne." 

So  the  end  of  it  was,  that  little  Jacob  found  himself  sud- 
denly removed  to  Wenderholme  Cottage,  where  old  Mrs. 
Stanburne  lived.  The  change  was  highly  agreeable  to  him  — 
not  the  less  agreeable  that  the  companion  of  his  leisure  hours 
was  the  beautiful  little  Edith. 


286  VVefider holme.  Part  l 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

AT    WENDERHOLME    COTTAGE. 

WENDERHOLME  Cottage  was  in  fact  a  very  com- 
fortable and  commodious  house.  Its  claims  to  the 
humble  title  which  it  bore,  were,  first,  that  its  front  was  all 
gables,  with  projecting  roofs,  and  carved  or  traceried  barge- 
boards  ;  and,  secondly,  that  its  rooms  were  small.  But  if  they 
were  small  they  were  numerous  ;  and  when  it  pleased  Mrs. 
Stanburne  to  receive  visitors  —  and  it  often  pleased  that  hos- 
pitable lady  so  to  do  —  it  was  astonishing  how  many  people 
the  Cottage  could  be  made  to  hold. 

A  little  kindness  soon  wins  the  afifections  of  a  child,  and 
little  Jacob  had  not  been  more  than  three  or  four  days  at 
Wenderholme  before  he  began  to  be  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Stan- 
burne. Hers  was  just  the  sort  of  influence  which  is  necessary 
to  a  young  gentleman  at  that  age  —  the  influence  of  a  woman 
of  experience,  who  is  at  the  same  time  a  high-bred  gentle- 
woman. No  doubt  his  old  grandmother  loved  little  Jacob 
more  than  any  thing  else  in  the  world  ;  but  she  was  narrow- 
minded,  and  despotic,  and  vulgar  in  all  her  ways.  Mrs. 
Ogden,  too,  had  moments  of  caprice  and  violence,  in  which 
she  was  dangerous  to  oppose,  and  difficult  to  pacify ;  in  short, 
she  was  one  of  those  persons,  too  common  in  her  class,  of 
whom  Matthew  Arnold  says  that  they  are  deficient  in  sweet- 
ness and  light.  The  steady  unfailing  goodness  of  Mrs.  Stan- 
burne, her  uniformly  gentle  manners,  her  open  intelligent 
sympathy,  produced  on  her  young  guest  an  effect  made  ten 
times  more  powerful  by  all  his  early  associations.    It  was  like 


Chap.  XXXVII.      At  Wendevholme  Cottage.  287 

coming  out  of  a  chamber  where  every  thing  was  rough  and 
uncouth,  into  a  pleasant  drawing-room,  full  of  light  and  ele- 
gance, where  there  are  flowers,  and  music,  and  books.  Such 
a  change  would  not  be  agreeable  to  every  one :  whether  it 
would  be  agreeable  or  not  depends  upon  the  instinctive 
preferences.  Ladies  like  Mrs.  Stanburne  do  not  put  every- 
body at  his  ease,  and  it  proves  much  in  little  Jacob's  favor 
that  he  felt  happy  in  her  presence.  As  Jacob  Ogden,  the 
elder,  had  been  formed  by  nature  for  the  rude  contest  with 
reluctant  fortune,  so  his  nephew  had  been  created  for  the  re- 
finements of  an  attained  civilization.  Therefore,  henceforth, 
though  he  still  loved  his  grandmother,  both  from  gratitude 
and  habit,  his  young  mind  saw  clearly  that  neither  her  pre- 
cepts nor  her  example  were  to  be  accepted  as  authoritative, 
and  he  looked  up  to  Mrs.  Stanburne  as  his  preceptress. 

Little  Jacob's  healthy  honest  face  and  simple  manners 
recommended  him  to  the  good  lady  from  the  first,  and  he 
had  not  been  a  week  under  her  roof  before  she  took  a  kind 
interest  in  every  thing  concerning  him.  The  mere  facts  that 
he  had  no  mother,  no  sister,  no  brother,  and  that  he  had 
lived  alone  with  his  father  in  such  a  place  as  Twistle  Farm, 
were  of  themselves  enough  to  attract  attention  and  awaken 
curiosity ;  but  the  story  of  his  arrival  at  Wenderholme  in  the 
preceding  winter  was  also  known  to  her,  and  she  knew 
how  unendurably  miserable  his  lonely  home  had  been.  Mrs. 
Stanburne  talked  a  good  deal  with  Mr.  Prigley  about  the 
boy,  and  learned  with  pleasure  his  father's  wonderful  and 
(as  now  might  be  hoped)  permanent  reformation. 

"  He  does  not  seem  to  have  neglected  the  little  boy,"  she 
said  ;  "  he  reads  very  well.  I  asked  him  to  read  aloud  to 
me  yesterday,  and  was  surprised  to  hear  how  well  he  read  — 
I  mean,  quite  as  if  he  understood  it,  and  not  in  the  sing-song 
way  children  often  acquire." 

"  He  's  ten  years  old  now,  and  he  ought  to  read  well," 
replied  Mr.  Prigley ;  "  but  he  knows  a  great  deal  for  a  boy 


288  WenderJiolme.  Part  i. 

of  his  age.  It 's  high  time  to  send  him  to  school,  though  ; 
it 's  too  lonely  for  him  at  the  farm  I  am  preparing  him 
for  Eton." 

Mrs.  Stanburne  expressed  some  surprise  at  this.  "  Boys 
in  his  rank  in  life  don't  often  go  to  Eton,  do  they,  Mr. 
Prigley  ? " 

The  clergyman  smiled  as  he  answered  that  little  Jacob's 
rank  in  life  was  not  yet  definitively  settled.  Mrs.  Stanburne 
replied  that  she  thought  it  was,  since  his  father  was  a  retired 
tradesman. 

"  Yes,  but  his  uncle,  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  of  Milend,  has  not 
left  business ;  indeed  he  is  greatly  extending  his  business 
just  now,  for  he  has  built  an  immense  new  factory.  And  this 
little  boy  is  to  be  his  heir  —  his  uncle  told  me  so  himself 
three  weeks  since.  This  child  will  be  a  rich  man  —  nobody 
can  tell  how  rich.  His  uncle  wishes  him  to  be  educated  as 
a  gentleman." 

It  is  a  great  recommendation  to  a  little  boy  to  be  heir  to 
a  large  fortune,  and  Mrs.  Stanburne's  natural  liking  for  little 
Jacob  was  by  no  means  diminished  by  a  knowledge  of  that 
fact.  As  he  was  going  to  Eton,  too,  she  began  to  look  upon 
him  as  already  in  her  own  rank  of  life,  where  boys  were  sent 
to  Eton,  and  inherited  extensive  estates. 

During  Mr.  Prigley's  frequent  absences  with  Colonel  Stan- 
burne at  the  Hall,  Mrs.  Stanburne  undertook  to  hear  little 
Jacob  his  lessons,  and  then  the  idea  struck  her  that  Jacob 
and  Edith  might  both  write  together  from  her  dictation.  In 
this  way  the  boy  and  the  girl  became  class-fellows.  Edith 
had  a  governess  usually,  but  Uie  governess  had  gone  to  visit 
her  relations,  and  Miss  Edith's  education  was  for  the  present 
under  the  superintendence  of  her  grandmamma. 

So  between  these  two  children  an  intimacy  rapidly  estab- 
lished itself  —  an  intimacy  which  affected  the  course  of  their 
whole  lives. 

One  day  when  they  had  been  left  alone  together  in  the 


Chap. XXXVI I.     At  Wenderholme  Cottage.  289 

drawing-room,  little  Jacob  asked  the  young  lady  some  ques- 
tion, and  he  began  by  calling  her  "  Miss  Edith." 

"  Miss  Edith  !  "  said  she,  pouting ;  "  why  do  you  call  me 
Miss  ?  The  servants  may  call  me  Miss,  but  you  mayn't. 
We  're  school-fellows  now,  and  you  must  call  me  Edith. 
And  I  shall  call  you  Jacob.  Why  haven't  you  got  a  prettier 
name  for  me  to  call  you  by.''  Jacob  isn't  pretty  at  all. 
Haven't  you  another  name  ?  " 

Poor  little  Jacob  was  obliged  to  confess  his  poverty  in 
names.  He  had  but  one,  and  that  one  uncouth  and  unac- 
ceptable ! 

"  Only  one  name.  Why,  you  funny  little  boy,  only  to  have 
one  name  !  I  've  got  four.  I  'm  called  Edith  Maud  Charlotte 
Elizabeth.  But  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  'II  do.  As  I  've  got  four 
names  and  you  've  only  one,  I  '11  give  you  one  of  mine.  I 
can't  call  you  Charlotte,  you  know,  because  you  're  not  a 
girl ;  but  I  can  call  you  Charley,  and  I  always  will  do.  So 
now  I  begin.     Charley,  come  here  1  " 

Little  Jacob  approached  obediently. 

"  Ha,  ha !  he  answers  to  his  new  name  already!  "  she  cried 
in  delight,  clapping  her  hands.  "  What  a  clever  little  boy  he 
is !  He 's  a  deal  cleverer  than  the  pony  was  when  we  changed 
its  name  !  But  then,  to  be  sure,  the  pony  never  properly 
knew  its  first  name  either." 

Suddenly  she  became  grave,  and  put  her  fingers  on  the 
young  gentleman's  arm.  "  Charley,"  she  said,  "  this  must 
be  a  secret  between  us  two,  because  if  grandmamma  found 
out,  she  might  be  angry  with  me,  you  know.  But  you  like  to 
be  called  Charley,  don't  you  ?  isn't  it  nice  ? '' 

19 


290  Wenderholme.  part  1. 


T 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

ARTISTIC    INTOXICATION. 

HE  London  architect  who  was  charged  with  the  restora- 
tion of  Wenderholme  gave  advice  which  could  not  be 
followed  without  a  heavy  outlay ;  but  in  this  respect  he  was 
surpassed  by  Colonel  Stanburne's  amateur  adviser,  Mr.  Prig- 
ley,  whose  imagination  revelled  in  the  splendors  of  an  ideal 
Elizabethan  interior,  full  of  carving  and  tapestry,  and  all 
manner  of  barbaric  magnificence.  Where  the  architect  would 
have  been  content  with  paper,  Mr.  Prigley  insisted  upon 
wainscot;  and  where  the  architect  admitted  plain  panelling, 
the  clergyman  would  have  it  carved  in  fanciful  little  arches, 
or  imitations  of  folded  napkins,  or  shields  of  arms,  or  large 
medallion  portraits  of  the  kings  of  England,  or  bas-reliefs 
of  history  or  the  chase. 

Only  consider  what  Mr.  Prigley's  tastes  and  circumstances 
had  been,  and  what  a  painful  contradiction  had  ever  subsisted 
between  them!  He  had  an  intense  passion  for  art  —  not  for 
painting  or  sculpture  in  their  independent  form,  for  of  these 
he  knew  little  —  but  Mr.  Prigley  loved  architecture  mainly, 
and  then  all  the  other  arts  as  they  could  help  the  effect  of 
architecture.  With  these  tastes  he  lived  in  a  degree  of  pov- 
erty which  utterly  forbade  any  practical  realization  of  them, 
and  surrounded  by  buildings  of  which  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  they  represented  the  taste  of  the  inhabitants  of  Shay- 
ton.  The  ugliest  towns  in  the  world  are  English  towns  — 
the  ugliest  towns  in  England  are  in  the  manufacturing  dis- 
trict—  the  ugliest  town  in  the  manufacturing  district  was  the 


Chap,  xxxviii.         A  1'tistic  Intoxication.  291 

one  consigned  to  Mr.  Prigley's  spiritual  care.  Here  his 
artistic  tastes  dwelt  in  a  state  of  suppression,  like  Jack-in- 
the-box.  Colonel  Stanburne  had  imprudently  unfastened  the 
lid  ;  it  flew  open,  and  Jack  sprang  up  with  a  suddenness  and 
an  energy  that  was  positively  startling  and  alarming. 

The  fact  is,  Mr.  Prigley  lived  in  a  condition  of  intoxication 
during  the  whole  time  of  his  stay  at  Wenderholme  Cottage — • 
an  intoxication  just  as  real  as  that  which  he  denounced  in 
Seth  Schofield  and  Jerry  Smethurst,  and  the  other  patrons  of 
the  Red  Lion.  A  man  may  get  tipsy  on  other  things  than 
ale  or  brandy;  and  it  may  be  doubted  whether  any  tipsiness 
is  more  complete,  or  more  enjoyable  whilst  it  lasts,  than  that 
which  attends  the  realization  of  our  ideas  and  the  gratifica- 
tion of  our  tastes.  And  it  has  been  kindly  ordained  that 
when  we  are  not  rich  enough  to  realize  our  ideas  for  our- 
selves, we  take  nearly  as  much  interest  in  seeing  them  real- 
ized by  somebody  else ;  so  that  critics  who  could  not  afford 
to  build  a  laborer's  cottage,  get  impassioned  about  Prince 
Albert's  monument  or  the  future  Palace  of  Justice.  How 
much  the  more,  then,  should  Mr.  Prigley  excite  himself  about 
Wenderholme,  especially  seeing  that  Colonel  Stanburne  had 
done  him  the  honor  to  consult  his  judgment,  and  expressed 
the  desire  to  benefit  by  his  extensive  knowledge,  his  cultivated 
taste  !  Was  it  not  a  positive  duty  to  interest  himself  in  the 
matter,  and  to  give  the  best  advice  he  could  ?  It  was  a  duty, 
and  it  was  a  pleasure. 

Mr.  Prigley  had  already  half  decided  the  Colonel,  when  a 
powerful  ally  came  unexpectedly  to  his  assistance.  One 
morning  at  breakfast-time,  when  the  Colonel  read  his  letters, 
he  said  to  Mrs.  Stanburne,  "  Here  's  a  letter  from  an  acquaint- 
ance of  ours  who  wants  to  come  and  stay  here,"  and  he 
handed  her  the  following  note  :  — 


*& 


"My    dear    Colonel    Stanburne,  —  Since    I    had   the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  Wenderholme,  I  liave  often  thought 


29-2  JVender holme  Part  i. 

about  what  you  are  doing  there.  Having  had  a  good  deal  of 
experience  with  architects,  restorations,  &c.,  it  has  occurred 
to  me  that  I  might  be  of  some  use.  Would  you  present  my 
compliments  to  Mrs.  Stanburne,  and  say  that  if  it  occasioned 
no  inconvenience  to  her,  I  should  very  much  like  to  spend  a 
few  days  at  Wenderholme  Cottage  ?  I  would  bring  nobody 
with  me  except  Thompson,  my  valet ;  and  though  our  ac- 
quaintance is  comparatively  a  recent  one,  I  presume  upon  it 
so  far  as  to  hope  that  you  will  not  allow  my  visit  to  make  any 
difference  —  I  mean,  in  asking  people  to  meet  me.  I  should 
like,  on  the  contrary,  to  have  you  all  to  myself,  so  that  we 
may  talk  about  the  restoration  of  Wenderholme  in  detail :  it 
interests  me  greatly.  With  kind  compliments  to  Mrs.  Stan- 
burne, 

"Yours  very  truly,  Ingleborough." 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Stanburne,  when  she  had  read 
the  note,  "  the  Duke  must  come,  of  course.  I  like  him  very 
much  — he  is  a  very  agreeable  man.  We  needn't  make  any 
fuss." 

So  the  Duke  came  ;  and  as  Colonel  Stanburne  had  insisted 
that  Mr.  Prigley  should  stay  to  meet  him,  he  and  little  Jacob 
prolonged  their  visit  at  the  Cottage.  "  I  look  upon  you,  Mr. 
Prigley,  as  a  necessary  shield  for  my  ignorance.  Whenever 
you  see  that  the  Duke  is  puzzling  me,  you  must  divert  the 
attack  by  drawing  it  on  yourself.  You  're  a  match  for  him  — 
you  know  all  the  technical  terms." 

His  Grace  brought  with  him  a  heavy  box  of  books,  such  as 
made  Mr.  Prigley's  mouth  water,  and  several  portfolios  of 
original  designs  for  carvings,  which  had  been  executed  for  an 
old  mansion  of  his  own,  contemporary  with  Wenderholme. 
He  warmly  supported  Mr.  Prigley's  views  ;  and  in  the  long 
conversations  which  the  three  held  together  in  the  evenings, 
whilst  the  Colonel  consumed  his  habitual  allowance  of  to- 
bacco, the  books  and  portfolios  were  triumplianlly  appealed  to, 


Chap.  XXXVIII.  Artistic  Intoxication.  293 

and  it  was  proved  in  a  conclusive  manner  that  this  thing  ought 
to  be  done,  and  that  this  other  thing  was  absolutely  indispen- 
sable, till  poor  John  Stanburne  hardly  knew  what  to  think. 

"It  is  an  opportunity,"  said  the  Duke  —  "an  opportunity 
such  as,  we  hope,  may  never  occur  again  ;  and  it  rests  with 
you,  Colonel  Stanburne,  whether  your  noble  old  mansion  is  to 
be  restored,  in  the  genuine  sense  of  the  word,  so  that  it  may 
have  once  again  the  perfect  character  of  an  Elizabethan  house 
of  the  best  class  —  or  whether  it  is  to  be  simply  repaired  so  as 
to  shelter  you  from  the  weather,  like  any  other  house  in  the 
neighborhood.  You  will  never  repent  a  liberal  expenditure 
at  the  right  moment.  I  say,  be  liberal  now ;  it  is  an  expense 
which  will  not  occur  twice,  either  in  your  lifetime  or  in  that 
of  your  descendants  for  many  generations.  What  are  a  few 
thousand  pounds  more  or  less  in  a  matter  of  such  impor- 
tance ?  Make  Wenderholme  a  perfect  mansion  of  its  kind. 
Restore  all  the  wainscot,  and  tapestry,  and  glass  ;  replace  all 
the  carved  furniture  that  must  have  been  there  in  Queen 
Elizabeth's  time  "  — 

"  Thanks  to  Eureton's  good  management  the  night  of  the 
fire,  all  our  furniture  is  safe." 

The  Duke  made  a  little  gesture  of  impatience.  "  Captain 
Eureton,"  he  said,  "  did  his  duty  most  creditably  on  the  night 
of  the  fire  ;  but  as  the  fire  originated  in  the  garrets,  where  all 
the  old  remnants  were  accumulated,  the  consequence  was, 
that  the  most  precious  things  in  the  house  were  destroyed, 
and  the  less  precious  were  preserved." 

"  A  good  deal  more  useful,  though,  Duke,  if  less  precious 
in  the  eyes  of  an  antiquary." 

"  Useful  ?  Yes,  that  is  what  makes  them  so  dangerous. 
People  admit  incongruous  things  into  their  houses  on  the 
wretched  pretext  of  utility.  Do  you  know,  in  my  opinion,  it 
is  a  subject  of  regret  that  the  furniture  was  saved  that  night  ? " 

"  You  worked  very  hard  yourself  in  saving  it." 

"Of  course,  it  was  my  duty  to  take  my  share  of  the  work  ; 


2*94  Wenderholme.  Part  i 

but  circumstances  will  sometimes  place  us  in  such  a  position 
that  duty  compels  us  to  act  against  what  we  believe  to  be  the 
general  interest  of  mankind.  For  instance,  suppose  I  were 
out  at  sea  in  my  yacht,  and  that  I  met  with  a  boatful  of  Re- 
publicans, such  as  Mazzini,  Garibaldi,  Louis  Blanc,  and  Ledru 
RoUin,  all  so  hungry  that  they  were  just  going  to  eat  each 
other  up,  and  so  thirsty  that  they  were  just  going  to  drink 
salt  water  and  go  raving  mad,  it  would  be  my  duty  to  pick 
up  the  rascals,  and  give  them  food,  and  land  them  on  some 
hospitable  shore,  and  I  should  do  so  because  to  save  men 
from  death  is  an  elementary  duty ;  but  I  should  be  rendering 
a  far  better  service  to  mankind  in  letting  the  fellows  eat  each 
other,  instead  of  assassinating  their  betters,  and  go  raving 
mad  out  at  sea  rather  than  disseminate  insane  doctrines  on 
the  land." 

The  Colonel  could  not  help  laughing  at  this  sally.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  compare  my  furniture  with  a  set  of  Republicans?" 

"  What  Radicals  and  Republicans  are  in  an  ancient  state, 
common-place  and  ignoble  furniture  is  in  a  fine  old  mansion  ; 
and  your  old  remnants  in  the  lumber-room  were  like  men  of 
refined  education  and  ancient  descent,  who  have  been  thrust 
out  of  their  natural  place  in  society  to  make  room  for  vulgar 
parvenus." 

"  Well,  but  what  on  earth  would  you  have  me  do  with  my 
furniture } " 

"  There  are  many  ways  of  getting  it  out  of  Wenderholme. 
Why  not  furnish  some  other  house  with  it?  Why  don't  you 
have  a  house  in  London  ?  you  ought  to  have  a  house  in  Lon- 
don. The  furniture  here  is  quite  appropriate  in  a  modern 
house,  though  it  is  incongruous  in  an  old  one.  Or  if  you  had 
a  modern  house  anywhere,  no  matter  where,  you  might  fur- 
nish it  with  that  furniture,  and  then  Wenderholme  would  be 
free  to  receive  things  suitable  for  it." 

Amongst  other  books  that  the  Duke  had  brought  with  him 
was  VioUet-le-Duc's  valuable  and  comprehensive  "  Dictionnaire 


CHA.P.  XXXVIII.     Artistic  Intoxication.  295 

du  Mobilier ;  "  and  the  three  gentlemen  were  soon  as  deep 
in  the  study  of  chairs  and  bahuts  as  they  had  before  been  in 
that  of  wainscots  and  stained  glass.  Colonel  Stanburne  was 
not  by  nature  an  enthusiast  in  matters  of  this  kind,  and  would 
have  lived  calmly  all  his  life  amidst  the  incongruities  of  the 
Wenderholme  of  his  youth  ;  but  nobody  knows,  until  he  has 
been  exposed  to  infection,  whether  he  may  not  catch  some 
enthusiasm  from  others  which  never  would  have  originated  in 
himself.  From  the  very  beginning  of  his  stay,  Mr.  Prigley 
had  begun  to  indoctrinate  John  Stanburne  in  these  matters  ; 
and  after  the  arrival  of  the  Duke's  richly  illustrated  volumes, 
the  pupil's  progress  had  been  remarkable  for  its  rapidity.  He 
now  felt  thoroughly  persuaded  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  miss 
such  a  rare  opportunity,  and  that  economy  at  such  a  moment 
would  be  unworthy  of  the  owner  of  Wenderholme.  He  had 
a  large  sum  of  money  in  the  Funds,  entirely  under  his  own 
control,  and  he  resolved  to  appropriate  a  portion  of  this  to 
the  restoration  of  the  mansion,  in  accordance  with  the  advice 
of  the  Duke  and  Mr.  Prigley. 

One  day  at  lunch,  his  Grace  was  lamenting  the  loss  of  the 
old  carvings  in  the  lumber-room,  when  little  Jacob,  who  dined 
when  his  elders  lunched,  and  was  usually  a  model  of  good 
behavior,  in  that  he  observed  a  Trappistine  silence  during 
the  repast,  rather  astonished  the  company  by  saying,  "  Please, 
I  know  where  there  's  plenty  of  old  oak." 

The  gentlemen  took  this  for  one  of  those  remarks,  usually 
so  little  to  the  point,  which  children  are  in  the  habit  of 
making.  Mrs.  Stanburne  kindly  answered  by  inquiring 
"  whether  there  was  much  old  oak  at  Twistle  Farm  ? " 

"  Oh  no,  I  don't  mean  at  papa's  —  I  mean  here,"  replied  lit- 
tle Jacob,  with  great  vivacity.  John  Stanburne  said,  "  There 
used  to  be  plenty,  my  boy,  but  it  was  all  burnt  in  the  fire." 

"  I  don't  mean  that ;  I  never  saw  that.  I  mean,  what  I 
have  seen  since  I  have  been  here  this  time,  — real  old  oak. 
all  carved  with  lions  and  tigers  —  at  least,  I  believe  they  are 


296  WenderJiolme.  Pakt  i. 

lions  and  tigers  —  and  pigs  and  wolves,  too,  and  all  sorts  of 
birds  and  things." 

There  was  not  an  atom  of  old  oak  in  Wenderholme  Cot- 
tage, and  there  was  not  an  atom  of  furniture  of  any  kind  in 
Wenderholme  Hall.  What  could  the  child  mean  ?  Had  he 
been  dreaming? 

Everybody's  attention  was  drawn  to  little  Jacob,  who,  be- 
coming very  red  and  excited,  reiterated  his  assertion  with 
considerable  boldness  and  emphasis.  When  called  upon  for 
an  explanation,  he  said  that  when  he  had  been  playing  in  the 
great  barn,  amongst  the  hay,  he  had  got  into  a  long  low  garret 
over  the  pigsties  and  the  hen-houses,  and  that  it  was  full  of 
old  oak  —  "  quite  full  of  it,"  he  reiterated. 

Mrs.  Stanburne's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  thought 
and  reflection,  as  if  she  were  seeking  inwardly  for  something 
imperfectly  remembered. 

"  It  strikes  me,"  she  said,  "  that  when  my  husband's  father 
modernized  the  house,  he  must  have  put  part  of  the  old  things 
into  other  lumber-rooms  than  those  at  the  top  of  the  house 
itself.  There  are  places  amongst  the  out-buildings  which  have 
not  been  opened  for  many  years,  and  I  believe  we  should  find 
something  there." 

The  Duke  became  eager  with  anticipation.  "  The  merest 
fragments  of  the  original  furniture  would  be  precious,  Mrs. 
Stanburne.  If  we  only  had  some  specimens,  as  data,  the  rest 
might  be  reconstructed  in  the  same  taste.  Let  us  go  and  look 
up  whatever  may  remain.     This  little  boy  will  be  our  guide." 

Little  Jacob,  proud  and  excited,  led  the  way  to  the  great 
barn.  It  was  fun  to  him  to  make  the  gentlemen  follow  him 
up  the  ladder,  and  over  the  hay,  to  a  little  narrow  doorway 
that  was  about  three  feet  above  the  hay-level.  "  That 's  the 
door,"  he  said,  and  began  to  climb  up  the  rough  wall.  He 
pushed  it  open  by  using  all  his  force  in  frequent  shoulder- 
thrusts,  the  rusty  hinges  gradually  yielding.  The  adult  ex- 
plorers followed,  and  found  themselves  in  total  darkness. 


Chap.  XXXVIII.      Artistic  hi  toxic  atioit.  297 

"  The  old  oak  isn't  here,"  said  little  Jacob ;  "  it 's  a  good 
bit  further  on." 

The  garret  they  were  in  served  as  a  lumber-room  for  dis- 
used agricultural  implements,  and  both  the  Duke  and  Mr. 
Prigley  hurt  their  shins  against  those  awkward  obstacles.  At 
last  they  came  to  a  blank  wall,  and  then  to  what  seemed  to  be 
a  sort  of  cupboard,  so  far  as  they  could  guess  by  touching. 

Behind  the  cupboard  was  a  small  space,  into  which  little 
Jacob  insinuated  himself,  and  afterwards  cheerfully  sang  out, 
"  I  'm  all  right ;  here  's  the  place  !  " 

The  gentlemen  pushed  the  cupboard  back  a  foot  or  two, 
and  found  the  doorway  behind  it  by  which  their  guide  had 
passed.  They  were  in  a  long,  low  attic,  very  dimly  lighted  by 
a  little  hole  in  the  wall  at  its  remote  extremity.  It  was  full 
of  obstacles,  which  the  Duke's  touch  recognized  at  once  as 
carved  oak. 

"  We  ought  to  have  had  lanterns,"  he  said  ;  "  how  tantaliz- 
ing it  is  not  to  be  able  to  see  !  " 

'*  I  would  rather  have  a  few  slates  taken  off,"  John  Stan- 
burne  answered  ;  "  that  will  make  us  a  fine  sky-light.  I  have 
a  dread  of  fire." 

Little  Jacob  was  sent  to  fetch  two  or  three  men,  who  in 
half  an  hour  had  removed  slates  enough  to  throw  full  day- 
light on  the  scene  —  such  daylight  as  had  not  penetrated 
there  for  many  a  long  year.  The  old  furniture  of  Wender- 
holme,  gray,  almost  white,  with  age,  filled  the  place  from  end 
to  end  in  one  continuous  heap. 

"  But  this  is  all  white,"  said  litde  Jacob,  "  and  old  oak 
ought   to  be  brown,   oughtn't  it  ? " 

"  A  little  linseed-oil  will  restore  the  color,"  the  Duke  re- 
plied. Then  he  exclaimed,  "  By  Jove !  Colonel,  we  have 
found  a  treasure  —  we  have  indeed  !  Let  us  get  every  thing 
out  into  the  yard,  and  then  we  can  examine  the  things  in  detail." 

The  whole  of  the  afternoon  was  spent  in  getting  the  old 
oak  out.     The  gentlemen  worked  with  the  laborers,  the  Duke 


298  Wender holme.  Part  i 

himself  as  energetically  as  any  one.  His  great  anxiety  was 
to  prevent  injury  to  the  carvings,  which  were  very  picturesque 
and  elaborate.  When  the  things  were  all  out  of  doors,  and 
the  garret  finally  cleared,  it  was  astonishing  what  a  display 
(hey  made.  There  were  six  cabinets,  of  which  four  had  their 
entablatures  supported  by  massive  griffins  or  lions,  and  their 
panels  inlaid  with  ebony  and  satin-wood,  or  carved  with  bas- 
reliefs,  which,  though  certainly  far  from  accurate  in  point  of 
design,  produced  a  very  rich  effect ;  whilst  even  the  plainest 
of  the  cabinets  were  interesting  for  some  curious  specimen  of 
turner's  work  or  tracery.  Then  there  were  portions  of  three 
or  four  state  beds,  with  niassive  deeply  panelled  testers  and 
huge  columns,  constructed  with  that  disdain  for  mechanical 
necessity,  and  that  emphatic  preference  of  the  picturesque, 
which  marked  the  taste  of  the  Elizabethan  age.  Thus,  a 
single  bed-post  would  in  one  place  be  scarcely  thicker  than  a 
man's  wrist,  and  in  another  thicker  than  his  body;  the  weight 
of  the  whole  being  enormously  out  of  proportion  to  its 
strength.  There  were  a  number  of  chairs  of  various  pat- 
terns, but  which  agreed  in  uniting  weight  with  fragility,  and 
stateliness  with  discomfort.  There  were  also  innumerable 
fragments,  difficult  at  first  sight  to  classify,  but  amongst  which 
might  be  recognized  the  legs  of  tables  (constructed  on  the 
same  principle  as  the  bed-posts),  and  pieces  that  had  been 
detached  from  chairs,  and  cabinets,  and  beds.  In  addition  to 
all  these  things,  there  were  quantities  of  old  wainscot,  some 
of  it  carved,  or  inlaid  with  various  woods. 

The  men  had  come  to  the  wainscot  at  last,  for  it  was 
reared  against  the  walls  of  the  garret  behind  the  barricade 
of  furniture.  As  they  were  removing  it,  there  was  a  crashing 
of  broken  glass.  A  piece  of  tliis  glass  was  brought  to  the 
light,  and  it  was  found  to  be  stained  with  the  arms  of  the 
Stanburnes  (or,  a  bend  cottised  sa.),  simple  old  bearings  like 
those  of  most  ancient  untitled  houses.  On  this  other  frag- 
ments were  carefully  collected,  and  they  all  bore  the  arms  of 


Chap.  XXXVIII.      ArtisHc  Intoxication.  299 

Stanburne  impaled  with  those  of  families  with  which  the 
Colonel's  ancestors  had  intermarried.  Mr.  Prigley,  who  was 
rather  strong  in  heraldry,  and  knew  the  genealogy  of  his 
wife's  family  and  all  its  alliances  much  better  than  did  John 
Stanburne  himself,  recognized  the  martlets  of  Tempest,  the 
red  lion  of  Mallory,  the  green  lion  of  Sherburne,  the  black 
lion  of  Stapleton,  the  chevron  and  cinquefoils  of  Falkingham, 
the  golden  lozenges  of  Plumpton,  charged  with  red  scallop- 
shells,  in  fess  on  a  field  of  azure.  "  This  has  been  a  great 
heraldic  window,  commemorating  the  alliances  of  the  family  !  " 
cried  Mr.  Prigley,  in  ecstasy.  "  It  must  be  restored,  Colonel," 
said  the  Duke,  "  and  brought  down  to  the  present  time  — 
down  to  you  and  Lady  Helena." 

Soon  afterwards  another  discovery  was  due  to  the  restless 
curiosity  and  boyish  activity  of  little  Jacob.  He  had  found 
means  to  open  one  of  the  biggest  of  the  cabinets,  and  had 
hauled  out  what  seemed  to  him  an  old  piece  of  carpet  folded 
in  many  folds.  He  ran  to  inform  the  Duke  of  his  discovery ;  ^ 
but  his  Grace,  eagerly  unfolding  the  supposed  piece  of  carpet, 
displayed  a  rich  field  of 

"  Arras  green  and  blue, 
Showing  a  gaudy  summer  morn, 
Where  with  puffed  cheek  the  belted  hunter  blew 
His  wreathed  bugle-horn." 

Other  pieces  of  tapestry  followed,  and  the  heaviest  of  the 
cabiuets  was  found  to  be  nearly  full  of  them.  They  con- 
sisted almost  exclusively  of  hunting  scenes  and  pastorals, 
with  landscapes  and  foliage,  which,  though  seldom  approach- 
ing correctness  as  a  representation  of  nature,  must  have 
produced,  nevertheless,  a  superbly  decorative  effect  when 
hung  in  the  halls  of  Wenderholme. 

The  Duke  had  said  very  little  for  nearly  an  hour,  except  in 
ordering  the  men  to  arrange  the  furniture  in  groups.  When 
this  had  been  accomplished  to  his  satisfaction,  he  turned  to 
the  Colonel,  and  made  him  the  following  little  speech:  — 


300  Wende7'holme,  Part  i. 

"  Colonel  Stanburne,  I  congratulate  you  upon  a  discovery 
which  would  be  interesting  to  any  intelligent  person,  but  is 
so  most  especially  to  the  representative  of  the  Stanburnes. 
Here  are  specimens  of  the  furniture  used  by  your  ancestors 
from  the  reign  of  Henry  VH,  to  that  of  James  I.  We  have 
here  ample  data  for  the  complete  restoration  of  Wender- 
holme,  even  in  the  details  of  wainscot  and  tapestry  and 
glass.  The  minutest  fragments  in  these  heaps  are  valuable 
beyond  price.  It  is  getting  late  now,  but  to-morrow  I  will 
go  through  every  bit  of  it  and  ticket  every  thing,  and  when 
I  leave  I  will  send  you  workmen  capable  of  doing  every 
thing  that  ought  to  be  done." 

Here  little  Jacob  whispered  to  Mr.  Prigley,  "  It  was  I 
that  found  it  out,  wasn't  it,  Mr.  Prigley?"  to  which  piece  of 
self-assertion  his  tutor  replied  by  the  repressive  monosyllable 
"  Hush  !  " 

But  his  Grace  had  overheard  both  of  them,  and  said, 
"  Indeed  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  you,  my  little  boy  — 
very  much  obliged  indeed.  I  should  like  to  make  you  a 
little  present  of  some  sort  for  the  pleasure  you  have  afforded 
me  this  afternoon.  You  are  going  to  Eton,  I  hear.  Have 
you  got  a  watch  ?  " 

Little  Jacob  pulled  out  a  silver  watch,  of  the  old-fashioned 
kind  popularly  known  as  turnips,  from  their  near  approach 
to  the  spherical  conformation.  The  Duke  smiled  as  he 
looked  at  it,  and  asked  what  time  it  was.  Little  Jacob's 
watch  was  two  hours  late.     "  But  it  ticks  yet,"  he  said. 

The  Duke  said  no  more  just  then,  but  when  little  Jacob  was 
dressed  to  go  down  to  dessert,  his  Grace's  valet,  Thompson, 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  brought  a  gold  watch  with  a  short 
chain,  wherewith  the  young  gentleman  proudly  adorned  himself. 
One  of  the  first  things  he  did  was  to  go  to  the  Duke  and  thank 
him  ;  and  he  did  it  so  nicely  that  the  nobleman  was  pleased  to 
say  that  when  little  Jacob  went  to  Eton  he  might  "  show  his 
watch  to  the  fellows,  and  tell  'em  who  gave  it  him." 


Chap.  XXXIX.       Good-bye  to  Little  Jacob.  301 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

GOOD-BYE    TO     LITTLE    JACOB. 

LITTLE  Jacob  was  in  luck's  way,  for  the  day  he  left  Wen- 
derholme  Cottage  the  Colonel  tipped  him  with  a  five- 
pound  note.  He  had  a  private  interview,  too,  with  Miss 
Edith,  and  there  was  quite  a  little  scene  between  the  infan- 
tine lovers. 

"  Are  you  really  going  away  to-day,  Charley  ? "  she  said, 
using  the  name  she  had  given  him. 

"  Yes  ;  Mr.  Prigley  says  he  must  go  back  on  account  of 
Shayton  Church.     It  will  be  Sunday  to-morrow,  you  know." 

"  And  when  will  you  come  back  to  us  again  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.     Perhaps  never." 

•'  Perhaps  never !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Edith  ;  "  and  aren't  you 
very  sorry .? " 

"  Yes,  very  sorry.     I  have  been  very  happy  here." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  come  again.  I  wish  you  would.  I 
like  you  very  much.  You  are  a  nice  boy,"  and  the  frank 
young  lady  made  him  a  small  present — a  little  gold  pin  with 
a  turquoise  in  it.  "  Keep  that ;  you  must  never  lose  it,  you 
know  —  it  is  a  keepsake." 

When  little  Jacob  left  with  Mr.  Prigley,  Mrs.  Stanburne 
was  very  kind  to  him,  and  said  he  must  come  again  some  time. 
This  cheered  Edith's  heart  considerably,  but  still  there  was  a 
certain  moisture  in  her  eyes  as  she  bade  farewell  to  her  boy- 
friend. 

And  in  the  same  way  I,  who  write  this,  feel  a  sadness 
coining  over  me  which  is  not  to  be  resisted.     Children  Jievcr 


302  Wenderholine.  part  t. 

live  long.  When  they  are  not  carried  away  in  little  coffins, 
and  laid  for  ever  in  the  silent  grave,  they  become  transformed 
so  rapidly  that  we  lose  them  in  another  way.  The  athletic 
young  soldier  or  Oxonian,  the  graceful  heroine  of  the  ball- 
room, may  make  proud  the  parental  heart,  but  can  they  quite 
console  it  for  the  eternal  loss  of  the  little  beings  who  plagued 
and  enlivened  the  early  years  of  marriage?  A  father  may 
sometimes  feel  a  legitimate  and  reasonable  melancholy  as  he 
contemplates  the  most  promising  of  little  daughters,  full  of 
vivacity  and  health.  How  long  will  the  dear  child  remain  to 
him  ?  She  will  be  altered  in  six  months  ;  in  six  years  she  will 
be  succeeded  by  a  totally  different  creature  —  a  creature  new 
in  flesh  and  blood  and  bone,  thinking  other  thoughts  and 
speaking  another  language.  There  is  a  sadness  even  in  that 
change  which  is  increase  and  progression  ;  for  the  glory  of 
noon-day  has  destroyed  the  sweet  delicacy  of  the  dewy  Aurora, 
and  the  wealth  of  summer  has  obliterated  the  freshness  of  the 
spring. 

In  saying  good-bye  to  little  Jacob  and  his  friend  Miss 
Edith,  now,  I  am  like  some  father  who,  under  the  fierce  sun  of 
India,  sends  his  children  away  from  him,  that  they  may  live. 
He  expects  to  meet  them  again,  yet  these  children  he  will 
never  meet.  In  their  place  he  will  see  men  and  women  in  the 
vigor  of  ripened  adolescence.  And  when  he  quits  the  deck 
before  the  ship  sails,  and  the  little  arms  cling  round  him  for 
the  last  time,  and  for  the  last  time  he  hears  the  lisping  voices, 
the  dear  imperfect  words,  a  great  grief  comes  like  ice  upon 
his  heart,  and  he  feels  a  void,  and  a  loss,  and  a  vain  longing, 
only  less  painful  than  what  we  feel  at  the  grave's  brink,  when 
the  earth  clatters  down  on  the  coffin,  and  the  clergyman  reads 
his  farewell. 


PART    II. 


CHAPTER   I. 
AFTER    LONG    YEARS. 

IF  the  reader  has  ever  been  absent  for  many  years  from 
some  neighborhood  where  he  has  once  lived  —  where 
many  faces  were  familiar  to  him,  and  the  histories  that 
belonged  to  the  faces  —  where  he  once  knew  the  complex 
relations  of  the  inhabitants  towards  each  other,  and  was  at 
least  in  some  measure  cognizant  of  the  causes  which  were 
silently  modelling  their  existence  in  the  future,  as  masons 
build  houses  in  which  some  of  us  will  have  to  live  —  if,  after 
knowing  the  life  of  a  neighborhood  so  intimately  as  this,  he 
has  left  that  place  for  long  years,  and  come  back  to  it  again 
to  visit  it,  that  he  may  renew  the  old  sensations,  and  revive 
his  half-forgotten  ancient  self,  he  has  learned  a  lesson  about 
human  life  which  no  other  experience  can  teach.  The  inhabi- 
tants who  have  never  gone  away  for  long,  the  parson  who 
preaches  every  Sunday  in  the  church,  the  attorney  who  goes 
to  his  office  every  day  after  breakfast,  the  shop-keepers  who 
daily  see  the  faces  of  their  customers  across  the  counter,  per- 
ceive changes,  but  not  change.  To  them  every  vicissitude  has 
the  air  of  a  particular  accident,  and  it  always  seems  that  it 
might  have  been  avoided.  But  the  great  universal  change  has 
that  in  its  aspect  which  tells  you  that  it  cannot  be  avoided  ; 
and  he  who  has  once  seen  it  face  to  face  knows  that  all  things 
are  moving  and  flowing,  and  that  the  world  travels  fast  in  a 
sense  other  than  the  astronomical. 


304  Wenderhotme.  Part  ii. 

I  have  endeavored  to  enlist  the  reader's  interest  in  a  set  of 
persons  who  lived  at  Shayton  and  Sootythorn  at  the  time  of 
the  establishment  of  the  militia.  The  first  training  of  Colonel 
Stanburne's  regiment  took  place  in  the  month  of  May,  1853  — 
to  be  precise,  it  met  for  the  first  time  on  the  23d  of  that 
month;  and  the  15th  of  the  month  following  will  long  be 
remembered  in  the  neighborhood  on  account  of  the  great  fire 
at  Wenderholme  Hall,  which,  as  the  reader  is  already  aware, 
took  place  under  circumstances  of  the  most  exceptional  pub- 
licity. It  is  probable  that  on  no  occasion,  from  the  times  of 
the  Tudors  to  our  own,  were  so  many  people  collected  in  the 
park  and  garden  of  Wenderholme  as  on  that  memorable 
night. 

It  is  the  misfortune  of  certain  positions  that  the  virtues 
which  are  necessary  to  those  who  occupy  them  have  to  be 
translated  into  a  money  outlay  before  they  can  be  ade- 
quately appreciated.  Colonel  Stanburne  was  not  an  extrava- 
gant man  by  nature  ;  he  was  simple  in  all  his  habits  and 
tastes,  liked  to  live  quietly  at  his  own  house,  hated  London, 
and  indulged  himself  only  in  an  innocent  taste  for  tandem- 
driving,  which  certainly  did  not  cost  him  two  hundred  a-year. 
But  this  was  John  Stanburne's  character  in  his  private  capac- 
ity;  as  a  leader  of  men  —  as  the  head  of  a  regiment  —  his 
nature  was  very  different.  Whether  his  surroundings  excited 
him,  and  so  caused  him  to  lose  the  mental  balance  which  is 
necessary  to  perfect  prudence,  or  whether  he  acted  at  first  in 
ignorance  of  the  wonderful  accumulativeness  of  tradesmen's 
bil-s,  and  afterwards  went  on  from  the  force  of  established 
habit,  it  is  certain  that  from  the  23d  of  May,  1853,  when  his 
regiment  assembled  for  the  first  time.  Colonel  Stanburne 
entered  upon  a  new  phase  of  his  existence.  Hitherto  he 
had  lived  strictly  within  his  income,  whilst  from  the  year  1853 
he  lived  within  it  no  longer. 

His  whole  style  of  living  had  been  heightened  and  in- 
creased by  his  position  in  the  militia.     The  way  he  drove  out 


Chap.  I.  After  Long  Years.  305 

was  typical  of  every  thing  else.  Before  his  colonelcy  he  had 
been  contented  with  a  tandem,  and  his  tandem  was  horsed 
from  the  four  ordinary  carriage-horses  which  were  regularly 
kept  at  Wenderholme.  But  since  it  had  seemed  convenient — • 
nay,  almost  indispensably  necessary  —  to  have  a  commodious 
vehicle  of  some  kind,  that  he  might  convey  his  officers  from 
Sootythorn  to  Wenderholme  every  time  he  asked  them  to 
dinner  —  and  since  he  had  naturally  selected  a  drag  as  the 
proper  thing  to  have,  and  the  pleasantest  thing  for  himself  to 
drive  —  there  had  been  an  increase  in  his  stable  expenses, 
and  a  change  in  his  habits,  which  lasted  all  the  year  round. 
Besides,  his  natural  kindliness  and  generosity  of  disposition, 
which  had  formerly  found  a  sufficing  expression  in  a  general 
heartiness  and  good-nature,  now  began  to  express  themselves 
in  a  much  more  expensive  way  —  namely,  by  more  frequent 
and  more  profuse  hospitality. 

In  the  year  1865  Colonel  Stanburne  was  still  at  the  head 
of  his  regiment  of  militia,  and  during  the  annual  trainings 
the  Wenderholme  coach  has  never  ceased  to  run.  Wender- 
holme had  become  quite  a  famous  place,  and  tourists  knowing 
in  architecture  came  to  see  it  from  distant  counties.  It  is  a 
perfect  type  now  of  a  great  Elizabethan  mansion  :  the  exte- 
rior, especially  the  central  mass  over  the  porch,  is  enriched 
with  elaborate  sculpture  ;  there  are  great  mullioned  windows 
everywhere,  and  plenty  of  those  rich  mouldings  and  copings 
which  diversify  the  fronts  of  great  houses  of  that  age,  and 
crown  their  lofty  walls.  There  are  globes  and  pinnacles  on 
the  completed  gables,  and  at  the  intersections  of  the  roofing 
rise  fantastic  vanes  of  iron-work,  gilded,  and  glittering  in  the 
sunshine  against  the  blue  of  the  summer  sky. 

The  interior  has  but  one  defect  —  it  seems  to  require,  in 
its  inhabitants,  the  costume  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  the 
great  ladies  of  his  time.  It  has  become  like  a  poem  or  a 
dream,  and  one  would  hardly  be  surprised  to  find  Edmund 
Spenser  there  reading  the  "  Faery  Queene "  to  the   noble 

20 


3o6  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 

Surrey,  or  imagining,  in  the  solitude  of  one  of  its  magnifi- 
cent rooms,  some  canto  still  to  be  written. 

Let  us  pause  here,  and  look  at  the  place  simply  as  in  a 
picture,  or  series  of  pictures,  before  the  current  of  events 
hurries  us  on  till  we  have  no  time  left  to  enjoy  beautiful 
things,  nor  mental  tranquillity  enough  to  feel  in  tune  with 
this  perfect  peace. 

It  is  noon  in  summer.  Under  every  oak  in  the  great  ave- 
nues lies  a  dark  patch  of  shadow,  and  on  the  rich  expanse  of 
the  open  park  the  sunshine  glows  and  darkens  as  the  thin 
white  clouds  sail  slowly  in  the  blue  aerial  ocean.  How  rich 
and  stately  is  the  rounded  foliage  —  how  perfect  the  fulness  of 
the  protected  trees  !  In  the  midst  of  them  stands  the  house 
of  Wenderholme,  surrounded  by  soft  margins  of  green  lawn 
and  wide  borders  of  gleaming  flowers. 

It  is  pleasant  this  hot  day  to  enter  the  great  cool  hall,  to 
walk  on  its  pavement  of  marble  (white  marble  and  black,  in 
lozenges),  and  rest  the  eye  in  the  subdued  light  which  reigns 
there,  even  at  noon. 

Under  pretext  of  restoration,  Wenderholme  had  been  made 
a  great  deal  more  splendid,  and  incomparably  more  comforta- 
ble, than  it  ever  was  in  the  time  of  its  pristine  magnificence. 
In  the  wainscot  and  the  furniture  the  architect  had  lavishly 
used  a  great  variety  of  strange  and  beautiful  woods,  quite 
unknown  to  our  ancestors  ;  and  not  contented  with  the  stones 
and  marbles  of  the  British  islands,  he  had  brought  varieties 
from  Normandy,  and  Sicily,  and  Spain,  and  the  Mediter- 
ranean shores  of  Africa.  As  for  the  arrangements  that 
regarded  comfort  and  convenience,  John  Stanburne's  archi- 
tect had  learned  the  extent  of  a  rich  Englishman's  exigence 
when  he  erected  the  mansions  of  five  or  six  great  cotton- 
manufacturers,  and,  strong  in  this  experience,  had  made 
Wenderholme  a  model  place  for  elaborately  perfect  house- 
keeping. 

What  had  been  done  with  the  modern  furniture  that  had 


Chap.  I.  After  Long  Years.  307 

been  saved  on  the  night  of  the  fire  ?  We  may  learn  this,  and 
some  other  matters  also,  when  the  Colonel  comes  in  to  lunch. 

He  crosses  his  great  hall,  and  goes  straight  to  the  dining- 
room.  The  twelve  years  that  have  passed  by  have  aged  him 
even  more  than  so  many  dozens  of  months  ought  to  have 
done.  His  hair  is  getting  prematurely  gray,  and  his  step, 
though  still  firm  and  manly,  has  lost  a  good  deal  of  its 
elasticity,  and  something  of  its  grace.  The  expression  on 
his  countenance  does  not  quite  correspond  with  all  the  glory 
of  the  paradise  that  is  his,  with  the  sunshine  on  the  broad 
green  park  and  vast  shade-bestowing  trees,  with  the  rich 
peace  of  these  cool  and  silent  halls.  When  he  is  with  other 
people,  his  face  is  very  much  as  it  used  to  be  ;  but  when  he 
is  alone,  as  he  is  now,  it  looks  weary  and  haggard,  as  if  to 
live  were  an  effort  and  a  care — as  if  some  hateful  anxiety 
haunted  him,  and  wore  him  hour  after  hour, 

"  Tell  her  ladyship  that  I  have  come  in  to  lunch  ;  and  stay 
—  you  need  not  wait  upon  us  to-day." 

Lady  Helena  comes  with  her  scarcely  audible  little  step, 
and  quietly  takes  her  place  at  the  table.  She  is  not  very 
much  changed  by  the  lapse  of  these  last  twelve  years.  She 
is  still  rather  pretty,  and  she  looks  as  intelligent  as  ever, 
though  not  perhaps  quite  so  lively.  But  as  for  liveliness, 
she  has  nothing  to  encourage  her  vivacity  just  now,  for  the 
Colonel  eats  his  slice  of  cold  beef  in  silence,  and  scarcely 
even  looks  in  her  direction.  When  he  looks  up  at  all,  it  is 
at  the  window,  —  not  that  there  is  any  thing  particular  to  be 
seen  there  —  only  the  sunny  garden  with  the  fountain,  fed 
from  the  hills  behind. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Helena,  "  as  the  regiment  is  dis- 
banded now,  I  suppose  we  have  no  longer  any  reason  to 
remain  at  Wenderholme  ?  Suppose  we  went  up  to  town 
again  for  the  end  of  the  season  ?  There  are  several  people 
that  you  promised  to  see,  and  didn't  call  upon  before  you 
came  away.     There's  old  Lady  Sonachan's  ball  on  the  15th, 


3o8  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 

and  I  think  we  ought  to  do  something  ourselves  in  Grosvenor 
Square  —  you  know  we  meant  to  do,  if  the  training  of  the 
regiment  had  not  been  a  fortnight  earlier  than  we  expected." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  as  well  to  stop  quiedy  at  Wen- 
derholme." 

"  I  'm  afraid,  dear,"  said  Lady  Helena,  caressingly,  "  that 
you  're  losing  your  good  habits,  and  going  back  to  the  ideas 
you  had  many  years  ago,  before  the  militia  began.  You  've 
been  so  very  nice  for  a  long  time  now  that  it  would  be  a  pity 
to  go  back  again  to  what  you  used  to  be  before  you  were 
properly  civilized.  For  you  know,  dear,  you  were  not  quite 
civilized  then  —  you  were  sauvage,  almost  a  recluse ;  and 
now  you  like  society,  and  it  does  you  good  —  doesn't  it,  dear  ? 
Everybody  ought  to  go  into  society  —  we  all  of  us  need  it. 
Do  come  with  me  to  town,  dear,  and  after  that  I  will  go  with 
you  wherever  you  like." 

"  Helena,"  the  Colonel  answered,  gravely,  "  that 's  the  sort 
of  game  we  have  been  playing  for  many  years.  '  Do  indulge 
me  in  my  fancy,  and  then  I  will  indulge  you  in  some  fancy  of 
your  own.'     It  is  time  to  put  a  stop  to  that  sort  of  thing." 

"It  would  be  a  pity,  I  think.  Have  we  not  been  very 
happy,  my  love,  all  these  years  together?" 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,  of  course.  But  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is, 
Helena  —  we  made  a  great  mistake." 

Lady  Helena's  face  flushed,  and  her  eyes  filled.  "  A  mis- 
take !  I  am  grieved  if  you  think  your  marriage  was  a  mis- 
take, John.     I  never  think  so  of  mine." 

"  It  isn't  that ;  I  don't  mean  the  marriage.  I  mean  some« 
thing  since  the  marriage.  But  it 's  no  use  talking  about  that 
just  now.  I  say,  put  your  shawl  on  and  take  a  little  walk 
with  me,  will  you  ? " 

They  went  in  silence  by  the  path  that  rose  towards  the 
moors  behind  the  house.  When  they  came  to  the  pond,  the 
Colonel  seemed  to  pause  and  hesitate  a  little  ;  then  he  said, 
"  No,  not  here  —  on  the  open  moor." 


Chap.  I.  After  Long  Years.  309 

They  came  to  the  region  of  the  heather,  and  the  park  of 
Wenderhohne,  with  all  the  estate  around  it,  lay  spread  like  a 
great  map  beneath  them. 

"  Sit  down  here,  Helena,  and  let  us  talk  together  quietly. 
It  may  be  better  for  both  of  us."  Then  came  a  long  pause 
of  silence,  and  when  Lady  Helena  looked  in  the  Colonel's 
face,  she  perceived  that  his  eyes  were  wandering  over  the 
land  from  one  field  to  another,  with  a  strange  expression  of 
lingering  and  longing  and  regret.  Evidently  he  had  forgot- 
ten that  she  was  with  him. 

"  Dear,"  she  said  at  last,  "  what  was  that  great  mistake 
you  talked  about  ?  " 

He  started  and  looked  round  at  her  suddenly.  Then,  lay- 
ing his  hand  very  gently  on  her  shoulder,  said  with  strange 
tenderness,  "  You  won't  be  hurt,  will  you  ?  It  was  mutual, 
you  know. 

"  Do  you  recollect,  Helena,"  he  went  on,  after  a  little  while, 
"  the  time  when  I  first  began  to  drive  four  horses  ?  You 
didn't  approve  of  it  —  of  course  I  know  you  didn't  —  and 
there  were  a  good  many  other  things  that  you  didn't  approve 
of  either,  and  your  opinion  was  plain  enough  in  your  way 
with  me.  Well,  then,  there  were  some  things  that  you  either 
did  or  wanted  to  do,  you  know,  which  didn't  quite  suit  me, 
and  seemed  to  me  as  unnecessary  as  my  fancy  for  driving 
four  horses  seemed  to  you.  But  I  found  out  that  I  could  keep 
yon  in  a  good  temper,  and  make  you  indulge  me  in  my  fan- 
cies, by  indulging  you  in  corresponding  fancies  of  your  own. 
So  whenever  I  resolved  upon  an  extravagance,  I  stopped  your 
criticisms  by  some  bribe  ;  and  the  biggest  bribe  of  all  —  the 
one  that  kept  you  indulgent  to  me  year  after  year  —  was  that 
house  in  Grosvenor  Square." 

"  It  was  your  own  proposing." 

"  That 's  just  what  I  am  saying.  I  proposed  the  house  in 
town  to  keep  you  quiet  —  to  keep  you  from  criticising  me. 
You  had  got  into  a  way  of  criticising  me   about  the  time  of 


o 


I  o  Wenderhobne.  Part  ii. 


the  fire,  and  I  hated  being  criticised.  So  I  thought,  '  She 
shall  have  her  own  way  if  she'll  only  let  me  have  mine;' 
and  it  seems  you  thought  something  of  the  same  kind,  for  you 
became  very  indulgent  with  me.  That  has  been  our  mistake, 
Helena." 

"  But  was  it  such  a  mistake  after  all,  darling  ?  Have  we 
not  been  very  happy  all  these  years  ?  I  remember  we  were 
not  so  happy  just  when  the  militia  began.  You  were  not  so 
nice  with  me  as  you  have  been  since." 

"  Perhaps  not  —  and  you  weren't  as  nice  with  me  either, 
Helena  ;  but  we  were  nearer  being  right  then  than  we  ever 
have  been  during  the  last  few  years.  I  mean  to  say  that,  if 
we  had  said  plainly  to  each  other  then  —  in  a  kind  sort  of 
■way,  of  course — what  each  was  thinking,  we  should  have 
spared  each  other  a  great  deal  of  suffering." 

"  We  have  suffered  very  little,  love ;  we  have  been  very 
happy." 

"  The  punishment  is  yet  to  come.  I  've  been  punished,  in 
my  mind,  for  years  past,  and  said  nothing  about  it  to  you, 
because  I  wanted  partly  to  spare  you,  and  partly  to  screen 
myself,  for  I  thought  I   could  bring  things  round  again." 

"  Do  you  mean  about  money  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  but,  dear,  you  always  told  me  that  there  had  been 
no  diminution  in  our  income.     Did  you  not  tell  me  the  truth  ? ' 

"  All  that  was  perfectly  true.  The  income  was  not  dimin- 
ished, but  the  new  investments  weren't  as  safe  as  the  old  ones. 
Don't  you  see,  we  had  less  capital  to  get  our  income  from, 
and  our  expenses  were  even  heavier  than  they  used  to  be. 
So  I  invested  at  higher  interest,  to  make  up  the  difference  in 
our  income,  and  I  've  been  carrying  that  on  to  an  extent  you 
know  nothing  about." 

Lady  Helena  began  to  be  alarmed.  Nobody  knew  better 
than  her  ladyship  that  the  prestige  of  aristocracy  rested  ulti- 
maiely  upon  wealth,  and  that  she  could  no  more  keep  up  her 


Chap.  I.  After  Long  Years.  311 

station  without  a  good  income  than  her  strength  without  food. 
It  had  been  a  capital  error  of  John  Stanburne's  from  the  be- 
ginning, not  to  consult  his  wife  on  every  detail  of  his  money 
transactions.  She  had  always  been  perfectly  prudent  in  not 
letting  current  expenses  go  beyond  income,  although,  as  they 
had  only  one  child,  there  appeared  to  be  no  necessity  for 
saving.  She  would  have  advised  him  well  if  he  had  invited 
her  to  advise  him  ;  but  though  he  had  always  told  her,  with 
truth,  that  their  income  was  four  thousand  a-year,  he  had  not 
told  her  the  history  of  the  capital  sum  from  which  this  income 
had,  in  consequence  of  some  devices  of  his  own,  been  drawn 
so  unfailingly.  The  restoration  of  Wenderholme  had  been  a 
very  costly  undertaking  indeed.  The  whole  outlay  upon  it 
John  Stanburne  had  never  dared  to  calculate  ;  but  we,  who 
have  no  reason  for  that  nervous  abstinence  from  terrible  to- 
tals, know  that  during  the  years  immediately  succeeding  the 
great  fire,  he  did  not,  in  the  restoration  and  adornment  of 
his  beautiful  home,  spend  less  than  twenty-seven  thousand 
pounds.  The  result,  no  doubt,  was  worth  even  so  large  an 
outlay  as  this  ;  nor  was  the  sum  in  itself  very  wildly  extrav- 
agant, when  one  reflects  that  one  of  the  Sootythorn  cotton- 
spinners  laid  out  fully  as  much  on  an  ugly  new  house  about 
half  a  mile  beyond  Chesnut  Hill.  But  it  diminished  John 
Stanburne's  funded  property  by  more  than  one-half,  and  it 
therefore  became  necessary  to  invest  the  remainder  more 
productively,  to  keep  his  income  up  to  its  old  level. 

Whilst  he  is  telling  these  things  to  Lady  Helena  in  his  own 
way,  let  us  narrate  them  somewhat  more  succinctly  in  ours. 
It  had  happened,  about  three  years  after  the  fire  —  that  is,  in 
the  year  1856  —  that  a  new  bank  had  been  established  in 
Sootythorn,  called  the  Sootythorn  District  Bank,  and  some  of 
the  capitalists  both  in  the  immediate  locality  and  in  the 
neighboring  countr}'  had  invested  in  it  rather  largely.  Amongst 
these  was  our  acquaintance,  Mr.  Joseph  Anison  of  Arkwright 
Lodge,  near  Whittlecup,  who,  not  having  a  son  to  succeed 


3 1 2  Wender holme.  Part  ii. 

aim  in  liis  business,  did  not  care  to  extend  it,  and  sought 
another  investment  for  his  savings  which  might  as  nearly  as 
possible  approach  in  productiveness  the  ample  returns  of 
commerce.  Mr.  Anison  was  one  of  the  original  founders  of 
the  new  bank,  and  if  the  idea  had  not  positively  its  first 
source  in  his  own  mind,  it  was  he  who  brought  it  to  a  practi- 
cable shape,  and  finally  made  it  a  reality.  Colonel  Stanburne 
had  taken  Joseph  Anison  into  his  confidence  about  his  money 
matters  —  at  least  so  far  as  to  show  him  the  present  reduced 
state  of  his  funded  capital ;  and  he  added  that,  with  his  di- 
minished income,  it  had  become  necessary  to  economize  by  a 
determined  reduction  of  expenses,  the  most  obvious  means 
to  which  would  be  the  resignation  of  his  commission  in  the 
militia' — which,  directly  or  indirectly,  cost  him  a  clear  thou- 
sand a-year  —  and  the  abandonment  of  the  house  in  town, 
which  had  then  recently  been  established  for  the  gratification 
of  Lady  Helena,  and  furnished  with  the  modern  furniture 
saved  at  the  burning  of  Wenderholme.  Mr.  Anison  strongly 
dissuaded  the  Colonel  from  both  these  steps,  urging  upon  him 
the  popularity  which  he  enjoyed  both  in  the  regiment  and  at 
Sootythorn,  and  even  certain  considerations  of  public  duty 
to  which  an  English  gentleman  is  rarely  altogether  insensible. 
The  Colonel  liked  the  regiment,  he  liked  his  position,  and  it 
may  even  be  said,  without  any  exaggeration  of  his  merits,  that, 
independently  of  the  consideration  which  it  procured  him,  he 
felt  an  inward  satisfaction  in  doing  something  which  could  be 
considered  useful.  To  resign  his  commission,  then,  would 
have  been  difficult  for  another  reason,  if  not  altogether  im- 
possible. The  regiment,  instead  of  coming  to  Sootythorn  for 
a  month's  training  in  the  year,  was  on  permanent  garrison 
duty  in  Ireland,  and  he  could  not  gracefully  leave  it. 

The  other  project  —  the  abandonment  of  his  house  in  Lon- 
don—  might  have  been  agreeable  enough  to  himself  person- 
ally, but  he  was  one  of  those  husbands  who,  from  weakness  or 
some  other  cause,  find  it  impossible  to  deprive  a  wife  of  any 


Chap.  I.  After  Lo7ig  Years.  313 

thing  which  she  greatly  cares  for.  This  defect  was  due  in  his 
case,  as  it  is  in  many  others,  to  an  inveterate  habit  of  polite- 
ness towards  all  women,  even  towards  his  wife ;  and  just  as 
no  gentleman  would  take  possession  of  a  chair  or  a  footstool 
which  a  lady  happened  to  be  using,  so  John  Stanburne  could 
no*:  turn  Lady  Helena  out  of  that  house  in  town  which  she 
liked  so  much,  and  which  both  of  them  looked  upon  as  pecu- 
liarly her  own.  It  is  easy  for  rough  and  brutal  men  to  do 
these  things,  but  a  gentleman  will  often  get  into  money  em- 
barrassments out  of  mere  delicacy.  I  don't  mean  to  imply 
that  the  Colonel's  way  of  dealing  with  his  wife  was  the  best 
way.  It  would  have  been  far  better  to  be  frank  with  her  from 
the  beginning ;  but  then  a  simple  nature  like  John  Stan- 
burne's  has  such  a  difficulty  in  uniting  the  gentleness  and  the 
firmness  which  are  equally  necessary  when  one  has  to  carry 
out  measures  which  are  sure  to  be  disagreeable  to  a  lady. 
The  suaviter  in  modo,  &c.,  is,  after  all,  a  species  of  hypocrisy 
—  at  least  until  it  has  become  habitual ;  and  when  the  Colonel 
was  soft  in  manner,  which  he  always  was  with  women,  he  was 
soft  in  the  matter  also.  In  a  word,  though  no  one  was  bettef 
qualified  to  please  a  lady,  he  was  utterly  incapable  of  govern- 
ing one  —  an  incapacity  which  perhaps  he  shared  with  the 
majority  of  the  sons  of  Adam. 

As  retrenchment  had  appeared  impossible,  or,  at  least,  too 
difficult  to  be  undertaken  so  long  as  there  was  the  alternative 
of  a  change  of  investments,  the  Colonel  begged  Mr.  Anison, 
as  an  experienced  man  of  business,  to  look  out  for  some- 
thing good  in  that  way  ;  and  Mr.  Anison,  who,  with  his  brother 
capitalists,  had  just  started  the  Sootythorn  District  Bank, 
honestly  represented  to  his  friend  that  a  better  and  a  safer 
investment  was  not  likely  to  be  found  anywhere.  As  he 
preached  not  merely  by  precept  but  by  example,  and  showed 
that  he  had  actually  staked  every  thing  which  he  possessed 
on  the  soundness  of  the  speculation  —  he,  the  father  of  a 
family  —  Colonel   Stanburne  was  easily  persuaded,  and  be- 


3 1 4  Wenderholme.  par-i  ii. 

came  one  of  the  largest  shareholders.  The  bank  was  soon 
in  a  very  flourishing  condition  —  in  fact  it  was  really  pros- 
peious.  and  exceeded  the  most  sanguine  hopes  of  its  origi- 
nators. The  manager  was  both  an  honorable  man  and  a  man 
of  real  ability  as  a  financier.  The  dividends  were  very  large, 
and  not  paid  out  of  capital. 

Afler  five  or  six  years  of  this  prosperity,  during  which  the 
Colonel's  aggregate  income  had  been  higher  than  it  ever  was 
during  his  best  days  as  a  fund-holder,  he  began  to  conceive 
the  idea  of  replacing,  by  economy,  the  sum  of  ^27,000, 
which  had  been  withdrawn  from  his  funded  capital  for  the 
restoration  and  embellishment  of  Wenderholme.  To  do  this 
he  prudently  began  by  saving  the  surplus  of  his  income  ;  but 
as  this  did  not  seem  to  accumulate  fast  enough  for  his  desires, 
he  thought  that,  without  permanently  alienating  his  estate,  he 
might  mortgage  some  portion  of  it,  and  invest  the  money  so 
procured  at  the  higher  interest  received  by  the  shareholders 
of  the  Sootythorn  District  Bank.  The  mere  surplus  of  in- 
terest would  of  itself  redeem  the  mortgage  after  a  few  years, 
leaving  the  money  borrowed  in  his  own  hands  as  a  clear  in- 
crease of  capital.  In  this  way  he  mortgaged  a  great  part  of 
the  estate  of  Wenderholme  to  our  friend  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  of 
Milend. 

All  these  things  were  done  dam  Hclend  —  unknown  to  her 
ladyship.  She  was  not  supposed  to  understand  business, 
and  probably  the  Colonel,  from  the  first,  had  apprehended 
her  womanish  fears  of  the  glorious  uncertainties  of  specula- 
tion. His  conscience,  however,  was  perfectly  at  ease.  At 
the  cost  of  a  degree  of  risk  which  he  set  aside  as  too  trifling 
to  be  dwelt  upon,  he  was  gradually  —  nay,  even  rapidly  — 
replacing  the  money  sunk  in  Wenderholme  ;  and  every  day 
brought  him  nearer  to  the  time  when  he  might  live  in  liis 
noble  mansion  without  the  tormenting  thought  that  it  had 
been  paid  for  out  of  his  inherited  capital.  At  the  same  time, 
so  far  from  withdrawing  from  the  world's  eyes  into  tiie  obsca- 


Chap.  I.  After  Long  Years.  315 

rity  which  is  usually  one  of  the  most  essential  conditions  of 
retrenchment,  he  actually  filled  a  higher  place  in  the  county 
than  he  had  ever  occupied  before.  The  taste  for  society 
grows  upon  us  and  becomes  a  habit,  so  that  the  man  who 
a  year  or  two  since  bore  solitude  with  perfect  ease,  may 
to-morrow  find  much  companionship  a  real  want,  though  an 
acquired  one.  The  more  sociable  John  Stanburne  became, 
the  more  he  felt  persuaded  that  the  house  in  London  was 
a  proper  thing  to  keep  up,  and  there  came  to  be  quite  an 
admirable  harmony  between  him  and  Lady  Helena.  She 
had  ahiays  loved  him  very  much,  but  in  the  days  when  he 
had  a  fancy  for  retirement,  she  had  felt  just  a  shade  of  con- 
tempt for  the  rusticity  of  his  tastes.  As  this  rusticity  wore 
off",  l^er  ladyship  respected  her  husband  more  completely ; 
and  the  coolness  which  had  existed  between  them  in  the  year 
1853  was  succeeded  by  an  affectionate  indulgence  on  both 
sides,  which  was  entirely  satisfactory  to  Lady  Helena,  and 
was  only  a  little  less  so  to  the  Colonel,  because  he  knew  it 
to  be  a  sacrifice  of  firmness. 

He  began  to  feel  this  very  keenly  at  the  time  our  story 
reopens,  because  some  very  heavy  misfortunes  had  befallen 
the  Sootythorn  District  Bank,  and  the  Colonel  began  to 
doubt  whether,  after  all,  his  financial  operations  (successful 
as  they  had  hitherto  appeared)  were  quite  so  prudent  as 
he  and  Mr.  Anison  had  believed.  Mr.  Stedman  had  been 
against  the  enterprise  from  the  very  first,  and  had  openly 
attempted  to  dissuade  both  Mr.  Anison  and  the  Colonel 
from  any  participation  in  it ;  but  then  Mr.  Stedman,  who  had 
neither  the  expenses  of  a  family  nor  the  drain  of  a  high  so- 
cial position,  could  afford  the  utmost  extremity  of  prudence, 
and  could  literally  have  lived  in  his  accustomed  manner  if 
his  money  had  been  invested  at  one  per  cent.  However,  the 
Bank  had  kept  up  the  Colonel's  position  by  giving  him  an 
easy  income  for  several  years ;  and  by  enabling  him  to  put 
by  a  surplus,  had  compensated,  by  the   mental  satisfaction 


3i6  Wender holme.  Part  ii. 

which  is  the  reward  of  those  who  save,  any  little  anxiety 
which  from  time  to  time  may  have  disturbed  the  tranquillity 
of  his  mind.  But  now  the  anxiety  was  no  longer  a  light  one, 
to  be  compensated  by  thinking  about  savings.  A  private 
meeting  of  the  principal  shareholders  had  been  held  the  day 
before,  and  it  had  become  clear  to  them  that  the  position  of 
the  Sootythorn  Bank  (and  consequently  their  own  individual 
position,  for  their  liability  was  unlimited)  was  perilous  in  the 
extreme.  Immense  sums  had  been  advanced  to  cotton  firms 
which  were  believed  to  be  sound,  but  which  had  gone  down 
within  the  preceding  fortnight ;  and  many  other  loans  were 
believed  to  be  very  doubtful.  Under  these  circumstances,  the 
chief  shareholders  —  Colonel  Stanburne  amongst  the  number 
—  bound  themselves  by  a  mutual  promise  not  to  attenjpt  to 
sell,  as  any  unusual  influx  of  shares  upon  the  market  would  at 
once  provoke  their  depreciation,  and  probably  create  a  panic. 

Whilst  the  Colonel  had  been  telling  all  these  things  to 
Lady  Helena,  he  had  not  dared  to  look  once  upon  her  face  ; 
but  when  he  had  come  to  an  end,  a  silence  followed  —  a 
silence  so  painful  that  he  could  not  bear  it,  and  turned  to 
her  that  she  might  speak  to  him.  She  was  not  looking  in 
his  direction.  She  was  not  looking  at  Wenderholme,  nor  on 
any  portion  of  the  fair  estate  around  it ;  but  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  uttermost  line  of  the  far  horizon.  She  was  very 
pale  ;  her  lips  were  closely  compressed,  and  there  was  a  tragic 
sternness  and  severity  in  her  brow  that  John  Stanburne  had 
never  before  seen. 

For  a  whole  minute  —  for  sixty  intolerable  seconds  —  not 
one  word  escaped  her. 

"  Helena,  speak  to  me  ! " 

She  turned  slowly  towards  him,  and  rose  to  her  feet.  Then 
came  words  —  words  that  cut  and  chilled  as  if  they  were  made 
of  sharp  steel  that  had  been  sheathed  in  a  scabbard  of  ice. 

"  You  have  been  very  imprudent  and  very  weak.  You  are 
not  fit  to  have  the  management  of  your  own  affairs." 


Chap.  I.  After  Loiig  Years.  317 

She  said  no  more.  She  was  intensely  angry  at  her  husband, 
but  in  her  strongest  irritation  she  never  said  any  thing  not  jus- 
tified by  the  circumstances  —  never  put  herself  in  the  wrong 
by  violence  or  exaggeration.  She  had  a  great  contempt  for 
female  volubility  and  scolding  ;  and  the  effect  of  her  tongue, 
when  she  used  it,  was  to  the  effect  of  a  scold's  rattle  what 
the  piercing  of  a  rapier  is  to  the  cracking  of  a  whip, 

John  Stanburne  dreaded  the  severity  of  his  wife's  judgment 
more  than  he  would  have  dreaded  the  fury  of  an  unreasonable 
woman.  He  had  not  a  word  to  offer  in  reply.  He  felt  that 
it  was  literally  and  accurately  true  that  he  had  been  "  very 
imprudent  and  very  weak,  and  was  not  fit  to  have  the  man- 
agement of  his  own  affairs." 

He  covered  his  face  with  both  hands  in  an  agony  of  self- 
accusation,  and  remained  so  for  several  minutes.  Then  he 
cried  out  passionately,  "  Helena,  dear  Helena !  "  and  again, 
"Helena!  Helena!" 

There  was  no  answer.  He  lifted  up  his  eyes.  The  place 
she  had  occupied  was  vacant.  She  had  noiselessly  departed 
from  his  side. 


31 8  Wender holme.  part  ii. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN    THE    DINING-ROOM. 

ONE  of  the  most  strange  and  painful  things  about  ruin 
is,  that  for  clays,  and  even  weeks,  after  it  has  actually 
come  upon  a  man,  his  outward  life  remains  in  all  its  details 
as  it  was  before  ;  so  that  in  the  interval  between  the  loss  of 
fortune  and  the  abandonment  of  his  habitual  way  of  living 
he  leads  a  double  life,  just  as  a  ghost  would  do  if  it  were 
condemned  to  simulate  the  earthly  existence  it  led  before 
death  amongst  the  dear  familiar  scenes.  For  there  are  two 
sorts  of  separation.  You  get  into  a  railway  train,  and  take 
ship,  and  emigrate  to  some  distant  colony  or  some  alien 
empire,  and  see  no  more  the  land  which  gave  you  birth,  nor 
the  house  which  sheltered  you,  nor  the  faces  of  your  friends. 
This  separation  is  full  of  sadness  ;  but  there  is  another  sepa- 
ration which,  in  its  effect  upon  the  mind,  is  incomparably 
more  to  be  dreaded,  whose  pain  is  incomparably  more  poig- 
nant. I  mean,  that  terrible  separation  which  divides  you 
from  the  persons  with  whom  you  are  still  living,  from  the 
house  you  have  never  quitted,  from  the  horses  in  the  stable, 
from  the  dog  upon  the  hearth,  from  the  bed  you  lie  in,  from 
the  chair  you  sit  upon,  from  the  very  plate  out  of  which  you 
eat  your  daily  food  !  The  man  who,  still  in  his  old  house, 
knows  that  he  has  become  insolvent,  feels  this  in  a  thousand 
subtly  various  tortures,  that  succeed  each  other  without  inter- 
mission. A  curse  has  fallen  on  every  thing  that  he  sees,  on 
every  thing  that  he  touches  —  a  wonderful  and  magical  curse, 
devised  by  the  ingenuity  of  Plutus,  the  arch-enchanter !     The 


Chap.  II.  In  the  Dining-Rootn.  319 

wildest  fairy  tale  narrates  no  deeper  sorcery  than  this.  Every 
thing  shall  remain,  materially,  exactly  as  it  was ;  but  when 
you  go  into  your  library  you  shall  not  be  able  to  read,  in  your 
dining-room  the  food  shall  choke  you,  and  you  shall  toss  all 
night  upon  your  bed. 

And  thus  did  it  come  to  pass  that  from  this  hour  all  the 
beauties,  and  the  luxuries,  and  all  the  accumulated  objects 
and  devices  that  made  up  the  splendor  of  Wenderholme, 
became  so  many  several  causes  of  torture  to  John  Stanburne. 
And  by  another  effect  of  the  same  curse,  he  was  compelled 
to  torture  himself  endlessly  with  these  things,  as  a  man  when 
he  is  galvanized  finds  that  his  fingers  contract  involuntarily 
round  the  brass  cylinders  through  which  flows  the  current 
that  shatters  all  his  nerves  with  agony. 

The  first  bell  rings  for  dinner,  and  the  Colonel,  from  long 
habit,  leaves  his  little  den,  and  is  half-way  up  the  grand  stair- 
case before  he  knows  that  he  is  moving.  That  great  staircase 
had  been  one  of  the  favorite  inventions  in  new  Wenderholme. 
It  was  panelled  with  rich  old  yew,  and  in  the  wainscot  were 
inserted  a  complete  series  of  magnificent  Italian  tapestries, 
in  which  was  set  forth  the  great  expedition  of  the  Argonauts. 
There  was  the  sowing  of  the  poisoned  grain,  the  consequent 
pestilence  of  Thebes,  the  flight  of  Phryxus  and  Helle  on  the 
winged  ram  with  the  golden  fleece,  the  fall  of  poor  Helle  in 
the  dark  Hellespont,  the  sacrifice  of  the  ram  at  Colchis,  the 
murder  of  Phryxus.  Above  all,  there  was  the  glorious  embar- 
kation in  the  good  ship  Argo,  when  Jason  and  the  Grecian 
princes  came  down  to  the  shore,  with  a  background  of  the 
palaces  they  left.  And  in  another  great  tapestry  the  ship 
Argo  sailed  in  the  open  sea,  her  great  white  sail  curving 
before  the  wind,  and  the  blue  waves  dancing  before  her 
prow,  whilst  the  warriors  stood  quaintly  upon  the  deck,  with 
all  their  glittering  arms.  Then  there  was  the  storm  on  the 
coast  of  Thrace,  and  the  famous  ploughing-scene  with  the 
golden-horned  bulls,  and  the  sowing  of  the  dragon's  teeth. 


320  Wenderholme.  PARrii. 

Dragon's  teeth !  John  Stanburne  paused  long  before  that 
tapestry.  Had  he  not  likewise  been  a  sower  of  dragon's 
teeth,  and  were  not  the  armed  men  rising,  terrible,  around  him  ? 

Who  will  help  him  as  Medea  helped  Jason  ?  Who  will  pass 
him  through  all  his  dangers  in  a  day? 

It  will  not  be  his  wife  —  it  will  not  be  Lady  Helena.  She 
is  coming  up  the  great  staircase  too,  whilst  he  is  vacantly 
staring  at  the  tapestry.  He  does  not  know  that  she  is  there 
till  the  rustle  of  her  draperies  awakens  him.  She  passes  in 
perfect  silence,  slowly,  in  the  middle  of  the  broad  carpeted 
space,  between  the  margins  of  white  stone. 

They  met  again  that  evening  at  dinner.  So  long  as  the 
men  waited  they  talked  about  this  thing  and  that.  But  when 
the  dessert  was  on  the  table,  and  the  men  were  gone,  the 
Colonel  handed  the  following  letter  to  Lady  Helena :  — 

"  My  dear  Colonel  Stanburne,  —  As  you  have  been 
aware  for  some  time  of  the  precarious  position  of  the  Bank, 
the  bad  news  I  have  to  communicate  will  not  find  you  alto- 
gether unprepared.  We  have  been  obliged  to  stop  payment, 
and  it  will  require  such  a  large  sum  to  meet  the  liabilities  of 
the  company  that  both  you  and  I  and  many  other  share- 
holders must  consider  ourselves  ruined  men.  God  grant  us 
fortitude  to  bear  it !  When  I  advised  you  to  embark  in  this 
speculation,  God  knows  I  did  so  honestly,  and  you  have  the 
proof  of  it  in  the  fact  that  I  am  ruined  along  with  you.  It 
will  be  hard  for  you  to  descend  from  a  station  you  were  born 
for  and  are  accustomed  to,  and  it  is  hard  for  me  to  see  the 
fruits  of  a  life  of  hard  work  swept  away  just  as  I  am  beginning 
to  be  an  old  man.  Pray  think  charitably  of  me,  Colonel  Stan- 
burne. I  did  what  I  believed  to  be  best,  and  though  my  heart 
is  heavy,  my  conscience  is  clear  still.  May  Heaven  give 
strength  to  both  of  us,  and  to  all  others  who  are  involved  in 
the  same  ruin  ! 

"Yours  truly,  Joseph  Anison." 


Chap.  II.  In  the  Dining-Room.  321 

Lady  Helena  read  the  letter  from  beginning  to  end,  and 
then  returned  it  to  her  husband  without  a  word.  Her  face 
wore  an  expression  of  the  most  complete  indifference. 

"Why,  Helena!"  said  John  Stanburne,  "you  haven't  a 
word  to  say  to  me.  It 's  far  more  my  misfortune  than  my 
fault,  and  I  think  you  might  be  kinder,  under  the  circum- 
stances, than  you  are." 

"  Que  voulez-vous  queje  vous  disc  f  " 

31 


2,2  2  Wender holme.  Part  ii. 


CHAPTER   III. 

IN    THE    DRAWING-ROOM. 

COFFEE  having  been  announced,  the  Colonel,  who  had 
been  sitting  alone  with  his  burgundy,  and  perhaps 
drinking  a  little  more  of  it  than  usual,  followed  her  ladyship 
into  the  drawing-room.  That  drawing-room  was  the  most 
delicately  fanciful  room  in  the  whole  house.  It  was  wains- 
coted with  cedar  to  the  height  of  eight  feet,  where  the 
panels  terminated  in  a  beautiful  little  carved  arcade  running 
all  round  the  noble  room,  and  following  the  wall  everywhere 
into  its  quaint  recesses.  Heraldic  decoration,  used  so  pro- 
fusely in  the  great  hall  and  elsewhere,  was  here  limited  to 
John  Stanburne's  own  conjugal  shield,  in  which  the  arms  of 
Stanburne  were  impaled  with  those  of  Basenthorpe. 

If  the  Colonel  could  only  have  drunk  his  cup  of  coffee  in 
silence,  or  made  a  commonplace  remark  or  two,  and  then 
gone  straight  to  bed,  or  into  his  own  den,  it  might  have  been 
better  for  them  both  ;  but  he  was  stung  to  the  quick  by  her 
ladyship's  unsympathizing  manner,  and  he  had  absorbed  so 
much  burgundy  in  the  dining-room  as  to  have  lost  altogether 
that  salutary  fear  of  his  wife's  keen  little  observations  v/hi(  h 
usually  kept  him  in  restraint.  It  was  a  great  pity,  too,  that 
they  were  alone  together  in  the  drawing-room  that  evening, 
and  that  Miss  Stanburne  had  left  Wenderholme  two  days 
before  on  a  brief  visit  to  a  country  house  at  a  distance. 

His  heart  yearned  for  Helena's  sympathy  and  support,  and 
of  this  she  was  perfectly  aware ;  but,  with  that  rashness 
which   is  peculiarly  feminine,  and  which  makes  women  play 


Chap.  III.  In  the  Drawiiig-Room.  323 

their  little  game  of  withholding  what  men's  hearts  want,  even 
in  moments  of  the  utmost  urgency  and  peril,  she  determined 
to   give  him   no  help   until   he  had  properl}'  and  sufficiently 
humiliated  himself    and  confessed  his  sins  before  her.     The 
woman  who  could  withhold  her  tenderness  in  such  an  hour  as 
this   diminished,  in  doing  so,  the  value  of  that  tenderness  it- 
self ;  and  every  minute  that  passed  whilst  it  was  still  withheld 
made  such  a  large  deduction  from  it,  that  if  this  coldness 
lasted  for  an  hour  longer,  John  Stanburne  felt  that  no  subse- 
quent kindness  could  atone  for  it.     As   the  slow,  miserable 
minutes  went  by  whilst  Lady  Helena  sat  yards  away  from  him 
at  a  little  table  in  a  great  oriel  window,  saying  not  one  word, 
not   even    looking  once  in    his   direction,   John    Stanburne's 
brain,  already  in  a  state  of  intense  excitement  in  consequence 
of  the  miseries  of  the  day,  began   to  suffer  from   an   almost 
insane  irritability  and  impatience  on   account  of  the  silence 
and  calm  that  surrounded  him.     It  was  a  most  peaceful  and 
beautiful  summer  evening,  and  the  sun,  as  he  declined  towards 
the  west,  sent  rich  warm  rays  into  the  noble  room,  glowing  on 
the  cedar  panels,  and  on  the  quaintly  elegant  furniture,  with 
its  pervading  expression  of   luxury  and  ease.     This  luxury 
maddened  John  Stanburne,  the  soft  carpet  was  hateful  to  his 
feet,  the  easy-chair  irritating  to  his  whole  body  ;  he  hated  the 
great  clusters  of  flowers  in  the  Jardinieres,  and  the  white  del- 
icate webs  that  were  the  summer  curtains.     Considering  the 
present  temper  of  his  mind,  and  his  horror  of  every  thing  that 
had  cost  him  money,  the  drawing-room  was  the  worst  place 
he  could  have  been  In. 

If  her  ladyship  would  just  have  left  that  interesting  bit  of 
plain  hemming  that  she  was  engaged  upon  (and  whereby  she 
was  effecting  an  economy  of  about  twopence  a-day),  and  gone 
to  her  husband  and  said  one  kind  word  to  him,  merely  his 
name  even,  and  given  him  one  caress,  one  kiss,  their  fate 
would  have  been  incomparably  easier  to  endure.  They  would 
have  supported  each  other  under  the  pressure  of  calamity, 


324  Wenderholme.  Part  ii 

and  the  material  loss  might  have  been  balanced  by  a  moral 
gain. 

But  she  sat  there  silently,  persistently,  doing  that  farthing's 
worth  of  plain  needlework. 

"  Helena !  "  at  last  the  Colonel  broke  out,  "  I  say,  Helena, 
I  wonder  what  the  devil  we  are  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  need  not  swear  at  me,  sir." 

"  Swear  at  you  !  —  who  swears  at  you  ?  I  didn't.  But  if  I 
did  swear  at  you,  it  wouldn't  be  without  provocation.  You  are 
the  most  provoking  woman  I  ever  knew  in  my  life  ;  upon  my 
word  you  are  — you  are,  by  God,  Helena  !  " 

"  You  are  losing  your  temper.  Colonel  Stanburne.  Pray 
remember  whom  you  are  speaking  to.  I  am  not  to  be  sworn 
at  like  your  grooms." 

"  You  never  lose  your  temper.  Now,  I  say  that  as  you  are 
such  a  mistress  of  yourself  under  all  circumstances,  it 's  your 
own  fault  that  you  don't  make  yourself  more  agreeable." 

"  I  regret  that  you  don't  think  me  agreeable.  Colonel  Stan- 
burne." 

"  Well,  now,  are  you,  Helena  ?  Here  am  I  under  the  blow 
of  a  tremendous  calamity,  and  you  haven't  a  word  to  say  to 
me.  If  Fyser  knew  what  had  happened,  he  'd  be  more  sorry 
than  you  are." 

"What  would  you  have  me  say  to  you?  If  I  said  all  you 
deserve,  would  you  listen  to  it  ?  You  appear  to  forget  that 
you  have  as  yet  expressed  no  sympathy  for  me,  whom  you 
have  ruined  by  your  folly,  whereas  you  are  angry  because  I 
have  said  little  to  you." 

"  You  ruined,  Helena  !  "  said  John  Stanburne,  with  a  bitter 
laugh  ;  ^'- you  ruined  —  why,  you  never  had  any  thing  to  lose  ! 
Your  father  allows  you  six  hundred  a-year,  and  he  '11  continue 
your  allowance,  I  suppose.  You  never  owned  a  thousand 
pounds  in  your  life.  But  it's  different  with  me.  I  'm  losing 
all  I  was  born  to." 

The  answer  to  this  was  too  obvious  for  Lady  Helena  to 


Chap.  III.  ht  the  Dvawing-Room.  325 

condescend  to  make  it.  She  remained  perfectly  silent,  which 
irritated  the  Colonel  more  than  any  imaginable  answer  could 
have  irritated  him. 

He  certainly  was  wrong  so  far  as  this,  that  any  one  who 
asks  for  sympathy  puts  himself  in  a  false  position.  Condo- 
lence must  be  freely  given,  or  it  is  worthless.  And  any  dis- 
position which  her  ladyship  may  have  felt  towards  a  more 
wifely  frame  of  mind  was  effectually  checked  by  his  advancing 
these  claims  of  his.    She  was  not  to  be  scolded  into  amiability. 

"  Hang  it,  Helena  !  "  he  broke  out,  "  I  didn't  think  there 
was  a  woman  in  England  that  would  behave  as  you  are  be- 
having under  such  circumstances.  The  thing  doesn't  seem  to 
make  the  least  impression  upon  you.  There  you  sit,  doing 
your  confounded  sewing,  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 
you  do.  You  won't  sit  there  doing  your  sewing  long.  The 
bailiffs  will  turn  you  out.     They  '11  be  here  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  You  are  becoming  very  coarse,  sir  ;  your  language  is  not 
fit  for  a  woman  to  hear." 

"  It 's  the  plain  truth,  it  is.  But  women  won't  hear  the 
plain  truth.  They  don't  like  it  —  they  never  do.  But  your 
ladyship  must  be  made  to  understand  that  this  cannot  go  on. 
We  cannot  stop  here,  at  Wenderholme.  The  place  will  be 
sold,  and  every  thing  in  it.  Now,  I  should  just  like  to  know 
what  your  ladyship  proposes  to  do.  If  my  way  of  asking 
your  ladyship  this  question  isn't  polite  enough,  please  do  me 
the  favor  to  instruct  me  in  the  necessary  forms." 

"  If  you  could  speak  without  oaths,  that  would  be  some- 
thing gained." 

"  Answer  me  my  question,  can't  you  ?  Where  do  you  mean 
to  go  —  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  intend  to  go  to  my  father's." 

"  Well,  that 's  plain.  Why  couldn't  you  tell  me  that  sooner  ? 
You  mean  to  go  to  old  Adisham's.  But  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  '11 
go  there,  to  be  patronized  as  a  beggarly  relation." 

"  Very  well." 


326  Wenderholme.  Part  11. 

"  Very  well,  is  it  ?  It 's  very  well  that  you  are  to  live  in 
one  place,  and  I  in  another." 

"  A  distance  sufficient  to  protect  me  from  your  rudeness 
would  certainly  be  an  advantage." 

"  Would  it,  indeed  ?  You  really  think  so,  do  you  ?  Well, 
if  you  think  so,  it  shall  be  so." 

"  Very  well." 

She  spoke  with  a  calmness  that  was  perfectly  exasperating, 
and  John  Stanburne's  brain  was  too  much  overwrought  by  the 
terrible  trial  of  that  day  for  him  to  bear  things  with  any  pa- 
tience. He  was  half  insane  temporarily  ;  he  could  not  bear 
to  see  that  calm  little  woman  sitting  there,  with  her  jarring 
self-control. 

"  I  say,  Lady  Helena,  if  you  mean  to  go  to  old  Adisham's, 
the  sooner  you  go  the  better.  All  this  house  is  crumbling 
over  our  heads   as  if  it  were  rotten." 

Lady  Helena  rose  quietly  from  her  seat,  took  up  her  work, 
and  walked  towards  the  door.  Just  as  she  was  opening  it, 
she  turned  towards  the  Colonel,  and  pronounced  with  the 
clearest  possible  articulation  the  following  sentences:  — 

"  You  will  please  remember,  Colonel  Stanburne,  that  it 
was  you  who  turned  me  out  of  your  house,  and  the  sort  of 
language  you  used  in  doing  so.     /shall  always  remember  it." 

Then  the  door  closed  quietly  upon  her  —  the  great  heavy 
door,  slowly  moving  on  its  smooth  hinges. 


Chap.  IV.  AloilC.  327 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ALONE. 

IT  happened  that  the  hall-door  was  open,  as  it  usually  was 
in  the  fine  weather,  and  John  Stanburne,  without  knowing 
it,  went  out  upon  the  lawn.  The  balmy  evening  air,  fragrant 
from  the  sweet  breath  of  innumerable  flowers,  caressed  his  hot 
flushed  face.  He  became  gradually  calmer  as  he  walked  in  a 
purposeless  way  about  the  garden,  and,  looking  at  his  mansion 
from  many  a  different  point  of  view,  began  to  feel  a  strange, 
dreamy,  independent  enjoyment  of  its  beauty,  as  if  he  had 
been  some  tourist  or  visitor  for  whom  the  name  of  Wender- 
holme  had  no  painful  associations.  Then  he  passed  out  into 
the  park,  down  the  rich  dark  avenues  whose  massive  foliage 
made  a  premature  night,  and  wandered  farther  and  farther, 
till,  by  pure  accident,  he  came  upon  the  carriage-drive. 

A  man  whose  mind  is  quite  absent,  and  who  is  wandering 
without  purpose,  will,  when  he  comes  upon  a  road,  infallibly 
follow  it  in  one  direction  or  another,  not  merely  because  it  is 
plain  before  the  feet,  but  from  a  deep  instinct  in  our  being 
which  impels  us  to  prefer  some  human  guidance  to  the  wilder- 
ness of  nature.  It  happened  that  the  Colonel  went  in  the 
direction  which  led  him  away  from  the  house,  perhaps  because 
the  road  sloped  invitingly  that  way. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  noise  behind  him,  and  had  barely  time 
to  get  out  of  the  way  when  a  carriage  dashed  passed  him  at 
full  speed,  with  two  great  glittering  lamps.  He  caught  no 
glimpse  of  its  occupant,  but  he  knew  the  carriage — Lady 
Helena's. 


328  Wefider holme.  Part  il 

For  a  few  seconds  he  stood  immovable.  Then,  bounding 
forward,  he  cried  aloud,  "Helena!  Helena!"  and  again  and 
again,  "  Helena!" 

Too  late !  The  swift  high-spirited  horses  were  already  on 
the  public  road,  hurrying  to  catch  the  last  train  at  the  little 
station  ten  miles  off.  The  sudden  impulse  of  tenderness 
which  drew  John  Stanburne's  heart  after  her,  as  she  passed, 
had  no  magnetism  to  arrest  her  fatal  course.  They  had  parted 
now,  and  for  ever. 

He  would  have  passed  that  night  more  easily  if  he  could 
have  gone  at  once  to  the  Cottage,  and  unburdened  his  wretch- 
edness to  his  mother,  and  become,  for  his  hour  of  weakness, 
a  little  child  again  in  her  dear  presence.  But  he  dreaded  to 
inflict  upon  her  the  blow  which  in  any  event  would  only  come 
too  soon,  and  he  resolved  to  leave  her  whatever  hours  might 
yet  remain  to  her  of  peace. 

Somehow  he  went  back  to  the  Hall,  and  got  to  his  own  den. 
The  place  was  more  supportable  to  him  than  any  other  in  the 
house,  being  absolutely  devoid  of  splendor.  A  poor  man 
might  feel  himself  at  home  there.     He  rang  the  bell, 

"  Fyser,  her  ladyship  has  been  obliged  to  go  away  this  even- 
ing for  an  absence  of  some  days,  and  I  mean  to  live  here. 
Make  up  my  camp-bed,  will  you,  in  that  corner } " 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  Colonel  had  retreated  in 
this  manner  to  his  den  ;  for  when  there  were  no  guests  in  the 
house,  and  her  ladyship  was  away,  he  found  himself  happier 
there  than  in  the  great  reception-rooms.  I  think,  perhaps,  in 
his  place  I  should  have  preferred  something  between  the  two, 
and  would  have  allowed  myself  a  couple  of  tolerably  large 
rooms  in  a  pleasant  part  of  the  house  ;  but  his  mind  seems  to 
have  needed  the  reaction  from  the  extreme  splendor  of  new 
Wenderholme  to  a  simplicity  equally  extreme.  Here,  in  his 
den,  it  must  be  admitted  that  he  had  passed  many  of  his  hap- 
piest hours,  either  in  making  artificial  flies,  or  in  reading  the 
sort  of  literature  that  suited  him  ;  and  though  the  place  was  so 


Chap.  IV.  Alo7ie.  329 

crammed  with  things  that  the  occupant  could  hardly  stir,  and 
in  such  a  state  of  apparent  disorder  that  no  woman  would 
have  stayed  in  it  ten  minutes,  he  here  found  all  he  wanted, 
ready  to  his  hand. 

This  night,  however,  not  even  the  litde  camp-bed  that  he 
loved  could  give  him  refreshing  sleep ;  and  the  leathern  cylin- 
drical pillow,  on  which  his  careless  head  had  passed  so  many 
hours  of  perfect  oblivion,  became  as  hard  to  him  morally  as  it 
certainly  was  materially.  He  found  it  utterly  impossible  to 
get  rest ;  and  after  rolling  and  tossing  an  hour  or  two,  and 
vainly  trying  to  read,  finished  by  getting  up  and  dressing 
himself. 

It  was  only  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  the  Colonel 
determined  to  go  out.  Unfastening  a  side  door,  he  was  soon 
in  the  fresh  cool  air. 

He  followed  the  path  behind  the  house  that  led  to  the  spot 
where  he  had  made  his  confession  to  Lady  Helena.  A  strange 
attraction  drew  him  to  it,  and  once  there,  he  could  not  get 
away.  There  was  no  moon,  and  the  details  of  the  scene 
before  him  were  not  visible  in  the  clear  starlight,  but  dark 
mysterious  shades  indicated  the  situation  of  the  Hall  and  its 
shrubberies,  and  the  long  avenues  that  led  away  from  it. 

And  here,  in  the  solitude  of  the  hill,  under  the  silent  stars, 
came  upon  John  Stanburne  the  hour  and  crisis  of  his  agony. 
Until  now  he  had  not  realized  the  full  extent  of  his  misery, 
and  of  the  desolation  that  lay  before  him.  He  had  known  it 
since  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  but  he  felt  it  now  for  the 
first  time.  As  some  terrible  bodily  disease  lays  hold  of  us  at 
first  with  gentle  hands,  and  causes  us  little  suffering,  but 
afterwards  rages  in  us,  and  tears  us  with  intolerable  anguish, 
so  it  had  been  with  this  man's  affliction. 

His  brain  was  in  a  state  of  unnatural  lucidity,  casting  an 
electric  light  upon  every  idea  that  suggested  itself.  In  ordi- 
nary life  a  man  of  common  powers,  he  possessed  for  this 
hour  the  insight  and  the  intensity  of  genius.     He  reviewed 


330  WeiiderJwlme.  Part  ii. 

his  life  with  Lady  Helena,  —  the  twenty  years  —  for  it  was 
twenty  years  !  —  that  they  had  eaten  at  the  same  table,  and 
lived  under  the  same  roof.  And  in  all  that  long  space  of  a 
thousand  weeks  of  marriage,  he  could  not  remember  a  single 
instance  in  which  she  had  been  clearly  in  the  wrong.  On 
her  side,  it  now  seemed  to  him,  there  had  always  been 
intelligence  and  justice;  on  his  side,  a  want  of  capacity 
to  understand  her,  and  of  justice  to  recognize  her  merits. 
Having  now,  as  I  have  said,  for  one  hour  of  excitement,  the 
clear  perceptions  of  genius,  it  was  plain  to  him  where  he  had 
erred  ;  and  this  perception  so  humbled  him  that  he  no  longer 
dared  to  admit  the  faults  which  Lady  Helena  really  had,  her 
constant  severity  and  her  lasting  rancune.  Then  came  the 
bitterest  hour  of  all,  that  of  remorse  for  his  own  folly,  for 
his  want  of  conjugal  trust  in  Lady  Helena,  for  his  fatal  am- 
bition and  pride.  How  different  their  life  might  have  been 
if  he  had  understood  her  better  from  the  first !  how  different 
if  he  had  lived  within  his  means  !  Had  he  lived  within  his 
means,  that  great  foolish  fete  would  never  have  been  given  at 
Wenderholme,  the  house  would  not  have  been  burned  down, 
the  money  lavished  on  its  restoration  would  still  have  been  in 
the  Funds,  and  John  Stanburne  would  have  kept  out  of  that 
fatal  Sootythorn  Bank.  All  his  ruin  was  clearly  traceable 
to  that  fatal  entertainment,  and  to  his  expensive  ways  as  a 
colonel  of  militia.  He  saw  now  quite  clearly  that  there  had 
never  been  any  real  necessity  for  the  profuse  manner  in  which 
he  had  thought  it  obligatory  to  do  the  honor  of  his  rank. 
There  were  rich  colonels  and  there  were  colonels  not  so  rich 
—  he  might  have  done  things  well  enough  without  going 
beyond  his  means.  "  If  I  alone  suffered  from  it  I  "  he  cried 
aloud  ;  "  but  Helena,  and  Edith,  and  my  mother  1 " 


Chap.  V.  The  Two  Jacobs.  331 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    TWO    JACOBS. 

THE  twelve  years  that  have  passed  since  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  Mrs.  Ogden  have  not  deducted 
from  her  charms.  The  reader  has  doubtless  observed  that, 
notwithstanding  the  law  of  change  which  governs  all  sublu- 
nary persons  and  things,  there  are  certain  persons,  as  there 
are  certain  things,  which,  relatively  at  least  to  the  rest  of 
their  species,  have  the  enviable  privilege  of  permanence. 
Mrs.  Ogden  was  like  those  precious  gems  that  are  found  in 
the  sarcophagi  of  ancient  kings,  and  which  astonish  us  by 
their  freshness  and  brilliance,  when  all  around  them  bears 
the  impress  of  death  and  of  decay.  One  would  be  tempted 
to  exclaim,  *'  May  my  old  age  be  like  hers  !  "  were  it  not  that 
advancing  years,  whilst  deducting  so  little  from  her  physical 
or  mental  vigor,  have  not  enriched  her  mind  with  a  single 
new  idea,  or  corrected  one  of  her  ancient  prejudices.  How- 
ever, though  intellectual  people  may  think  there  is  little  use 
in  living  unless  life  is  an  intellectual  advance,  such  people  as 
Mrs.  Ogden  are  not  at  all  of  that  way  of  thinking,  but  seem 
to  enjoy  life  very  well  in  their  own  stationary  way.  There 
are  intellectual  policemen  who  are  always  telling  us  to  "  keep 
moving ; "  but  what  if  I  find  a  serener  satisfaction  in  stand- 
ing still  ?  Then,  if  we  stand  still,  we  are  to  be  insulted,  and 
told  that  we  are  rusty,  or  that  we  are  getting  the  "  blue- 
mould."  Et  apresl  Suppose  we  are  getting  the  blue-mould, 
what  then  ?  So  far  as  may  be  ascertained  by  the  study  of 
such  instances   as   Mrs.    Ogden,   the   blue-mould   is   a  great 


2,;^2  WendtrJiohne.  Part  il 

comfort  and  a  great  safeguard  to  the  system  —  it  is  moral 
flannel.  Would  she  have  lasted  as  she  has  done  without  it  ? 
I  say,  it  is  a  solace,  amidst  the  rapid  changes  of  the  body 
politic,  and  the  new-fangled  ideas  which  take  possession  of 
the  heads  of  ministers,  to  feel  that  there  is  one  personage  in 
these  realms  who  will  live  on  in  vigor  undiminished,  yet  never 
advance  one  inch.  And  when  the  British  Constitution  shall 
be  finally  swept  away,  and  the  throne  itself  no  more,  it  will 
be  something  amidst  the  giddiness  of  universal  experiment 
to  know  that  in  Mrs.  Ogden  this  country  will  still  possess  an 
example  that  all  is  not  given  over  to  mutability, 

"  Now,  young  un,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  one  day  at  dinner  at 
Milend,  "  I  reckon  you  've  been  writing  no  letters  to  that  lass 
at  Wendrum  ;  and  if  you  Ve  written  nout,  there  's  no  'arm 
done.  It  isn't  a  match  for  such  a  young  felly  as  you,  as  '11 
have  more  brass  nor  Stanburne  iver  had  in  his  best  days. 
We  'st  'ave  no  weddin'  wi'   bankrupts'  dorthers." 

"  Bankrupts,  indeed  !  "  said  Mrs.  Ogden.  "  I  reckon  nout 
o'  bankrupts !  Besides,  Stanburne  had  no  need  to  be  a  bank- 
rupt if  he  hadn't  been  such  a  fool.  And  foolishness  runs  i'  th' 
blood.  Like  father,  like  dorther.  Th'  father  's  been  a  wastril 
with  his  money,  and  it 's  easy  to  see  'at  the  dorther  'ud  be 
none  so  kerfle." 

"  Who  shalln't  have  th'  chance  o'  spendin'  none  o'  my 
brass,"  said  Uncle  Jacob.  "  Do  you  yer  that,  young  un  ? 
Stanburne  dorther  shall  spend  none  o'  my  brass.  If  you  wed 
her,  yer  father  '11  'ave  to  keep  both  on  ye,  an'  all  yer  chilther 
beside.  He  's  worth  about  five  hundred  a-year,  is  your  father  ; 
and  I  'm  worth  —  nobody  knows  what  I  'm  worth." 

Young  Jacob  knew  both  his  uncle  and  his  grandmother  far 
too  intimately  to  attempt  discussion  with  either  of  them  ;  but 
the  news  of  Colonel  Stanburne's  bankruptcy,  which  in  their 
view  had  put  an  end  to  the  dream  of  a  possible  alliance  with 
his  daughter,  wore  a  very  different  aspect  to  the  young  lover. 
An  attachment  existed  between  himself  and  Edith  Stanburne, 


Chap.  V.  The  Tivo  yacobi.  333 

of  which  both  were  perfectly  conscious,  and  yet  nothing  had 
been  said  about  i,  openly  on  either  side.  Young  Jacob 
Ogden  had  felt  every  year  more  and  more  keenly  the  width 
of  the  social  gulf  which  separated  them,  though  his  education 
at  Eton  and  Oxford  and  his  constantly  increasing  prospects 
of  future  riches  had  already  begun  to  build  a  bridge  across 
the  gulf.  Even  in  his  best  days  Colonel  Stanburne  had  not 
been  what  in  Lancashire  is  considered  a  rich  man  ;  in  his 
best  days,  he  had  been  poorer  than  the  leading  manufacturers 
of  Sootythorn  ;  and  Jacob  Ogden's  mill  had  of  itself  cost  more 
money  than  any  squire  of  Wenderholme  had  ever  possessed, 
whilst  Jacob  Ogden  had  property  of  many  kinds  besides  his 
mill,  and  a  huge  lump  of  money  lying  by  ready  for  immediate 
investment.  The  superiority  in  money  had  therefore  for  some 
years  been  entirely  on  the  side  of  the  Ogdens ;  but,  although 
aristocracy  in  England  is  in  reality  based  on  wealth,  it  has  a 
certain  poetic  sense  which  delights  also  in  antiquity  and  honors. 
Jacob  Ogden  and  his  money  might  have  been  agreeable  to  the 
matter-of-fact  side  of  English  aristocratic  feeling,  but  they  were 
unsatisfying  to  its  poetic  sense.  Young  Jacob  was  clearly 
aware  of  this,  and  so  indeed,  in  a  cruder  form,  was  his  uncle. 
So  long  therefore  as  the  Colonel  was  prosperous,  or  appar- 
ently prosperous,  the  Ogdens  knew  that  the  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  a  marriage  were  all  but  insurmountable,  and  no  pro- 
posal had  ever  been  made.  The  Colonel's  ruin  changed  the 
relative  situation  very  considerably;  and,  if  young  Jacob 
Ogden  could  have  permitted  himself  to  rejoice  in  an  event 
so  painful  to  one  who  had  always  been  kind  to  him,  he  would 
have  rejoiced  now.  He  did,  indeed,  feel  a  degree  of  hope 
about  Edith  Stanburne  to  which  he  had  been  a  stranger  for 
some  years. 

As  young  Jacob  had  said  nothing  in  answer  to  his  uncle 
and  his  grandmother,  they  both  gave  him  credit  for  a  prudent 
abandonment  of  his  early  dream.  There  existed,  however, 
between  him  and  his  father  a  much  closer  confidence  and 


334  Wender holme.  part  il 

friendship  ;  and  Isaac  Ogden  (who,  notwithstanding  the  errors 
of  his  earlier  life,  had  the  views  and  feelings  of  a  gentleman, 
as  well  as  an  especial  loyalty  and  attachment  to  his  unfortu- 
nate friend,  the  Colonel)  encouraged  his  son  in  his  fidelity. 
The  materials  were  thus  accumulating  for  a  war  in  the  Ogden 
family  ;  and  whenever  that  war  shall  be  declared,  we  may 
rely  upon  it  that  it  will  be  prosecuted  with  great  vigor  on  both 
sides,  for  the  Ogdens  are  wilful  people,  all  of  them. 

Mr.  Isaac  has  been  enjoying  excellent  health  for  these  last 
twelve  years,  thanks  to  his  vow  of  total  abstinence,  to  which 
he  still  courageously  adheres.  A  paternal  interest  in  the 
education  of  his  son  has  gradually  filled  many  of  the  voids 
in  his  own  education,  so  that,  without  being  aware  of  it 
himself,  he  has  become  really  a  well-informed  man.  His 
solitary  existence  at  Twistle  Farm  has  been  favorable  to  the 
habit  of  study,  and,  like  all  men  who  have  acquired  the  love 
of  knowledge,  he  sees  that  life  may  have  other  aims  and  other 
satisfactions  than  the  interminable  accumulation  of  wealth. 
Small  as  may  have  been  his  apparent  worldly  success,  Isaac 
Ogden  has  raised  himself  to  a  higher  stand-point  than  his 
brother  Jacob  is  likely  ever  to  attain.  Amongst  the  many 
expressions  of  sympathy  which  reached  Colonel  Stanburne 
after  his  disaster,  few  pleased  him  more  than  the  following 
letter  from  Twistle  Farm :  —   , 

"  My  dear  Colonel  Stanburne,  —  I  am  truly  grieved  to 
hear  that  the  failure  of  the  Sootythorn  Bank  has  involved 
you  in  misfortune.  I  would  have  come  to  Wenderholme  to 
say  this  personally,  but  it  seemed  that,  under  present  circum- 
stances, you  might  wish  to  be  alone  with  your  family.  I  hardly 
know  how  to  say  what  I  wish  to  say  in  addition  to  this.  For 
some  years  I  have  spent  very  little,  and,  although  my  income 
is  small,  I  find  there  is  a  considerable  balance  in  my  favor  with 

Messrs. .     If  this  could  be  of  any  use  to  you,  pray  do  not 

scruple  to  draw  upon  my  bankers,  who  will  be  forewarned  that 


Chap.  V.  The  Two  Jacobs.  335 

you  may  possibly  do  so.  Up  to  ;^i,ooo  you  will  occasion  me 
no  inconvenience,  and,  though  this  is  not  much,  it  might  be 
of  temporary  service. 

*'  Yours  most  faithfully,  I.  Ogden." 

To  this  letter  the  Colonel  returned  the  following  reply :  — 

"My  DEAR  Ogden,  —  Your  kind  letter  gave  me  great 
pleasure.  I  am  greatly  obliged  by  your  friendly  offer  of 
help,  which  I  accept  as  one  brother  officer  may  from  another. 
If,  as  is  probable,  I  find  myself  in  urgent  need  of  a  little 
ready  money,  I  will  draw  upon  your  bankers,  but,  of  course, 
not  to  such  an  extent  as  would  go  beyond  a  reasonable  prob- 
ability of  repayment. 

At  the  last  meeting  of  creditors  and  shareholders,  it  ap- 
peared that,  although  we  are  likely  to  save  nothing  from  the 
wreck,  the  Bank  will  probably  pay  nineteen  shillings  in  the 
pound.     This  is  a  great  satisfaction. 

"  Yours  most  truly,  J.  Stanbupxe." 


33^  We^ider holme.  Part  ii. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   SALE. 

THE  Colonel  would  not  expose  himself  even  to  the  ap- 
pearance of  flight,  but  remained  in  the  neighborhood 
manfully,  and  went  personally  to  Manchester,  before  the  court 
of  bankruptcy,  through  which  he  passed  very  easily.  His 
name  then  appeared  in  the  Manchester  papers,  and  in  the 
"  Sootythorn  Gazette,"  in  the  list  of  bankrupts. 

Bailiffs  were  in  possession  of  the  house  and  estate  of  Wen 
derholme,  and   Mr.   Jacob  Ogden  foreclosed  his  mortgages, 
by  which  he  became  owner  of  a  fair  portion  of  the  land. 

Finally,  Wenderholme  Hall  and  the  remainder  of  the  es- 
tate, including  the  Cottage,  in  which  Mrs.  Stanburne  still 
resided,  were  sold  by  auction  in  the  large  room  at  the  Thorn 
Inn  at  Sootythorn  —  the  very  place  which  the  Colonel's  regi- 
ment of  militia  was  accustomed  to  use  as  a  mess-room. 

Little  had  John  Stanburne  or  his  officers  foreseen,  whilst 
there  consuming  Mr.  Garley's  substantial  dinners,  that  the 
hammer  of  the  auctioneer  would  one  day  there  transfer  Wen- 
derholme from  the  name  of  Stanburne  to  another  name  —  to 
what  name  ? 

The  room  was  crowded.  The  sale  was  known  all  over 
Lancashire  and  Yorkshire.  Competitors  had  come  even  from 
distant  counties.  Wenderholme  had  been  a  famous  place 
since  the  fire,  and  the  magnificent  restoration  which  had  suc- 
ceeded to  the  fire.  Drawings  of  it  had  appeared  in  the 
"  Illustrated  London  News,"  and,  since  the  failure  of  the 
Sootythorn  Bank,  the  creditors  had  cunningly  caused  a  vol- 


Chap.  VI.  The  Sale.  337 

unie  to  be  made  in  which  the  whole  place  was  fully  illustiated 
and  described.     This  volume  they  had  widely  circulated. 

The  sale  had  been  announced  for  eight  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing, and  at  ten  minutes  after  eight  precisely  the  auctioneer 
mounted  his  rostrum.  He  made  a  most  elaborate  speech,  in 
which  (with  the  help  of  the  volume  above  mentioned)  he  went 
over  every  room  in  the  house,  describing,  with  vulgar  magnilo- 
quence, all  those  glories  which  had  cost  John  Stanburne  so 
dear. 

There  was  one  person  present  to  whom  the  description  can 
hardly  have  been  very  agreeable.  John  Stanburne  himself, 
from  anxiety  to  know  the  future  possesssor,  and  the  amount 
realized,  had  quietly  entered  the  room  unperceived,  for  every 
one  was  looking  at  the  auctioneer.  He  had  stationed  himself 
near  the  wall,  and  there  bore  the  infliction  of  this  torture,  his 
hat  over  his  eyes. 

At  length  all  this  eloquence  had  run  dry,  and  the  business 
of  the  evening  began.  The  place  was  put  up  at  ;^3o,ooo,  and 
no  bid  was  to  be  made  of  less  than  ;^i,ooo  over  its  predeces- 
sor. The  first  two  or  three  bids  were  made  by  persons  with 
whom  this  history  has  no  concern,  but  that  for  ;^35,ooo  was 
made  by  our  friend  Mr.  John  Stedman.  Some  one  present 
called  out  "  thirty-six,"  on  which  Mr.  Stedman  replied  "  thirty- 
seven,"  and  there  he  ceased  to  bid.  He  knew  that  this  was 
the  value  of  the  remaining  estate ;  *  he  did  not  want  the 
house.  Philip  Stanburne  whispered  something  in  his  ear, 
after  which  he  cried  "  forty-two,"  the  last  bid  having  been 
forty-one.  After  that  he  made  no  further  offer,  and  Philip 
Stanburne's  countenance  fell. 

The  bidding  hitherto  had  been  strictly  of  the  nature  of  in- 
vestment, but  now  the  seekers  after  an  eligible  investment 
retired  from  the  field,  except  one  or  two  dealers  in  estates  who 
intended  to  sell  the  place   again,  at  a  profit,  by  private  con- 

*  The  reader  will  remember  that  the  best  part  of  the  estate  had  been 
mortgaged  to  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden. 

22 


338  Wenderliolme.  Part  ii. 

tract,  and  who  looked  upon  its  architectural  and  other  beau- 
ties as  marketable  qualities.  These  men  went  on  to  ;^47,ooo. 
The  place  had  now  reached  what  was  called  a  "  fancy  price." 

There  was  a  man  of  rather  short  stature,  with  fair  hair,  a 
closely  shaven  face,  a  greasy  cap  on  his  head,  a  velveteen 
jacket  on  his  back,  and  the  rest  of  his  person  clothed  in  old 
corduroy.  Fluffs  of  cotton  were  sticking  about  him,  and  he 
presented  the  general  appearance  of  a  rather  respectable 
operative.  He  stood  inmiediately  before  Philip  Stanbume, 
who  did  not  see  his  face,  and  was  rather  surprised  to  hear  him 
call  out,  "  Forty-eight." 

"  Forty-eight,  gentlemen  !  "  cried  the  auctioneer  ;  "  going 
at  forty-eight  thousand — forty-nine?  Forty-nine  —  going  at 
forty-nine!  Come,  who  says  fifty?  —  we  must  round  the 
number,  you  know,  gentlemen  —  who  says  fifty?  Going,  go- 
ing—  forty-nine  —  only  forty-nine,  going  —  going  "  — 

The  man  in  the  greasy  cap  said,  "  Fifty,"  and  the  auction- 
eer, after  the  usual  delays,  hearing  no  other  voice  amidst  the 
breathless  silence  of  the  room,  struck  the  decisive  blow  with 
his  little  hammer,  and  Wenderholme  was  sold. 

Then  the  auctioneer  beckoned  to  him  the  man  in  the  greasy 
cap,  and  said  in  broad  Lancashire,  and  in  a  tone  of  some- 
what contemptuous  familiarity,  "  You  mun  go  and  tell  them 
as  sent  you  here  as  they  '11  have  to  pay  hup  one-third  as  de- 
posit-money. One-third  o'  fifty  thousand  pound  is  sixteen 
thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty-six  pound,  thirteen  and  four- 
pence,  and  that 's  what  them  as  sent  you  here  has  got  to  pay 
hup.  You  can  recklect  that.  It 's  all  sixes,  nobbut  the  one 
to  start  wi'  and  th'  odd  shillings." 

The  man  in  the  greasy  cap  smiled  quietly,  and  took  out  an 
old  pocket-book.     "  You  've  got  a  pen  and  ink  ?  " 

"  I  '11  write  it  down  for  ye,  if  ye  like.  And  stop  — tell  me 
th'  name  o'  them  as  sent  ye." 

"  There  's  no  need  ;  you  '11  know  it  soon  enough."  And 
ihe  man  in  the  greasy  cap  took  out  a  cheque-book,  wrote  a 


Chap.  VI  The  Sale.  339 

cheque,  filled  it,  signed  it,  crossed  it,  and  handed  it  to  the 
auctioneer.  The  name  signed  was  "Jacob  Ogden,"  now 
owner  of  Wenderholme. 

When  the  auctioneer  perceived  his  error  (for  the  name 
of  Ogden  was  now  mighty  in  the  land),  he  was  covered  with 
confusion,  and  profuse  in  perspiration  and  apology.  Jacob 
affected  to  forgive  him,  but  in  truth  he  had  little  to  forgive, 
for  no  incident  could  have  been  more  exquisitely  agreeable  to 
his  feelings.  To  stand  there  in  public,  and  in  the  dress  he 
usually  wore  at  the  mill,  to  sign  a  heavy  cheque,  to  buy  a  fine 
estate,  to  feel  himself  the  most  important  man  in  the  room, 
to  be,  in  his  greasy  cap  and  velveteen  jacket,  the  envied  man, 
the  observed  of  all  obser\'ers,  was  for  him  a  triumph  sweeter 
than  is  the  triumph  of  some  fair  lady,  who,  in  her  diamonds 
and  her  lace,  and  her  exquisite  cleanliness,  shines  in  some 
great  assembly  with  the  purity  of  a  lily  and  the  splendor  of 
a  star. 


340  Wcnderlwhie.  Part  ii 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A     FRUGAL    SUPPER. 

MRS.  OGDEN  was  sitting  up  for  her  son  Jacob  that 
night,  and  she  had  prepared  him  a  little  supper  of 
toasted  cheese.  She  had  no  positive  knowledge  of  the  ob- 
ject of  his  journey  to  Sootythorn.  She  was  aware  that  Wen- 
derholme  would  be  sold  by  auction  one  of  these  days,  but 
she  did  not  know  exactly  whether  her  son  intended  to  bid  for 
it.  There  was  not  much  talk  generally  between  the  two  about 
the  great  financial  matters  —  their  money-talk  ran  chiefly 
upon  minutiae,  such  as  the  wages  of  a  servant  or  the  purchase 
of  a  cow. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  increase  of  their  riches,  the 
mother  and  son  still  lived  at  Milend  in  their  old  simple  man- 
ner. Mrs.  Ogden  still  made  all  Jacob's  shirts  and  stockings, 
and  still  did  a  great  deal  of  the  cooking.  The  habits  of  her 
life  had  been  formed  many  years  before,  and  she  could  not 
endure  to  depart  from  them,  even  when  the  departure  would 
have  been  an  increase  to  her  comfort.  Thus  she  continued 
to  keep  only  one  girl  as  a  servant,  and  did  most  of  the  work 
of  the  house  with  her  own  hands.  Her  happiness  depended 
upon  abundance  and  regularity  of  occupation  ;  and  she  acted 
much  more  wisely  in  keeping  up  the  activity  of  her  habits, 
even  though  these  habits  may  have  been  in  themselves  some- 
what inconsistent  with  her  pecuniary  position,  than  she  would 
have  done  if  she  had  exposed  herself  to  the  certain  ennui  of 
attempting  to  play  the  fine  lady. 


chai-.  VII.  A  Frugal  Supper.  341 

The  girl  was  gone  to  bed  when  Jacob  Ogden  came  back 
from  Sootythorn,  and  his  mother  was  seated  by  the  kitchen- 
fire,  darning  one  of  his  stockings  and  superintending  the 
toasted  cheese.  The  kitchen  at  Milend  was  a  clean  and 
spacious  room,  with  stone  floor  nicely  sanded,  and  plenty  of 
hams  and  oatcakes  hanging  from  the  ceiling.  There  was  a 
great  clock  too  in  one  corner,  with  shining  case,  a"d  a  rubi- 
cund figure  above  the  dial,  by  which  were  represented  the 
phases  of  the  moon. 

The  old  lady  had  laid  out  a  small  supper-table  in  the 
kitchen,  and  when  Jacob  came  back  she  told  him  he  was  to 
have  his  supper  there,  "  for  th'  fire  'ad  gone  out  i '  th' 
parlor." 

So  he  sat  down  to  eat  his  toasted  cheese,  which  was  a 
favorite  supper  of  his,  and  whilst  he  was  eating,  his  mother 
took  a  little  oatmeal-porridge  with  treacle.  She  rather  feared 
the  effects  of  toasted  cheese,  believing  porridge  to  be  more 
easily  digested. 

Neither  one  nor  the  other  said  any  thing  about  the  object 
of  the  journey  to  Sootythorn  during  supper,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  Jacob's  face  to  indicate  either  extraordinary  news 
or  unusual  elation.  In  fact,  so  accustomed  was  Jacob  Ogden 
to  purchasing  estates,  that  he  had  little  of  the  feeling  of  ela- 
tion which  attends  the  young  beginner;  and  after  that  momen- 
tary triumph  at  Garley's  Hotel,  any  excitement  which  he  may 
have  felt  had  subsided,  and  left  in  his  mind  no  other  feeling 
than  the  old  spirit  of  calculation.  It  was  the  very  first  time  in 
his  life  that  he  had  gone  beyond  the  principle  of  investment, 
and  paid  something  over  and  above  for  the  mere  gratification 
of  his  fancy  or  his  pride,  and  his  reflections  were  not  of  un- 
mixed self-congratulation.  "  Anyhow,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"it'll  be  Ogden  of  Wendrum,  J.P." 

However  late  Jacob  Ogden  took  his  supper,  he  must  neces- 
sarily smoke  his  pipe  after  it  (one  pipe),  and  drink  his  glass 
of  grog.    His  mother  usually  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  the  water 


34 2  Wenderholme.  part  ii. 

joiled,  but  this  evening  she  kept  moving  about  in  the  kitchen, 
first  finding  one  little  thing  to  set  to  rights,  and  then  another. 
At  last  she  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  said, — 

"  Our  Jacob  !  " 

"What,  mother?" 

"  Wherestabeen  ?  "  * 

"  Why,  you  knoan  that  weel  enough,  I  reckon.  I  'n  been 
Sootythorn  road." 

*'  And  wh?it  'as  ta  been  doin'  ? " 

"  Nowt  nobbut  what 's  reet."  f 

"  What  'as  there  been  at  Sootythorn  ? " 

"There  's  been  a  sale." 

"'An  X  they  been  sellin'  a  mill?" 

"  Noah." 

"  And  what  'an  they  been  sellin'  ?  " 

"  Wendrum  'All." 

"  And  who  's  bout  it  ? " 

« I  have." 

"  And  what  'an  ye  gin  for't?" 

"Fifty  thousand." 

"  Why,  it 's  ta  mich  by  th'  'auve  !  " 

"'Appen." 

Notwithstanding  the  laconic  form  of  the  conversation,  Mrs. 
Ogden  felt  a  strong  desire  to  talk  over  the  matter  rather  more 
fully,  and  to  that  end  seated  herself  on  the  other  side  the 
kitchen-fire. 

"Jacob,"  she  said,  as  she  looked  him  steadily  in  the  face, 
"I  never  knew  thee  part  wi'  thy  brass  b 'out  five  pussent. 
How  will  ta  get  five  pussent  out  o'  Wendrum  'All  for  the  fifty 
thousand  ? " 

"Why,  mother,  there  's  investments  for  brass,  and  there's  in- 
vestments for  pasition.  I  dunnot  reckon  to  get  so  much  inter- 
est out  o'  Wendrum,  but  it'll  be  Ogden  o'  Wendrum,  J. P." 

"Well,  now,  Jacob,  that's  what  I  call  spendin'  your  money 

*  Where  hast  thou  been.       t  Nothing  but  what  is  right.       |  Have. 


Chap.  VII.  A  Frugal  Supper.  343 

for  pride ! "  Mrs.  Ogden  said  this  solemnly,  and  in  as  pure 
English  as  she  could  command. 

"Why,  and  what  if  it  is?  There's  plenty  more  where  that 
coom  from.     What  signifies  ?  " 

"  And  shall  you  be  going  to  live  at  Wendrum  'AH,  Jacob  ? 
/  willn't  go  there  —  indeed  I  willn't;  I'll  stop  at  Milend. 
Why,  you'll  require  ever  so  many  servants.  They  tell  me 
there  's  twenty  fires  to  light !  And  what  will  become  o'  the 
mill  when  you  're  over  at  Wendrum  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ogden's  face  wore  an  expression  of  trouble  and  dis- 
satisfaction. Her  eyebrows  rose  higher  than  usual,  and  her 
forehead  displayed  more  wrinkles.  But  Jacob  knew  that  this 
was  her  way,  and  that  in  her  inmost  soul  she  was  not  a  little 
gratified  at  the  idea  of  being  the  Lady  of  Wenderholme.  For 
as  an  ambitious  ecclesiastic,  promoted  to  the  episcopal  throne, 
rejoices  not  openly,  but  affects  a  decent  unwillingness  and 
an  overwhelming  sense  of  the  responsibilities  of  his  office,  so 
Mrs.  Ogden,  at  every  advance  in  her  fortunes,  sang  her  own 
little  noliinius  episcopari. 

"  Why,  it 's  thirty  miles  off,  is  Wendrum,"  she  went  on,  com- 
plainingly  ;  "  and  there  's  no  railway  ;  and  you  '11  never  get 
there  and  back  in  a  day.  One  thing's  plain,  you'll  never 
manage  the  mill  and  the  estate  too." 

"  All  the  land  between  this  'ere  mill  and  Wendrum  'AH  is 
mine,"  said  Jacob,  with  conscious  dignity ;  "  and  I  mean  to 
make  a  road,  mother,  across  the  hill  from  the  mill  to  Wen- 
drum 'All.  It'll  be  nine  mile  exactly.  And  I  '11  have  a  tele- 
graph from  th'  countin'-house  to  my  sittin'-room  at  Wendrum. 
And  I  shall  take  little  Jacob  into  partnership,  and  when  one 
Jacob  's  i'  one  spot  t'other  Jacob  '11  be  i'  t  'other  spot.  Reck- 
lect  there's  two  Jacobs,  mother." 

"Well,  I  reckon  you'll  do  as  you  like,  whatever  /say.  But 
/'ll  go  non  to  Wendrum.  I  '11  stop  'ere  at  Shayton  while  I 
live  (it  'appen  willn't  be  for  long)  —  I  'm  a  Shayton  woman 
bred  and  born." 


344  VVenderJiolme.  Part  ii. 

"Nonsense,  mother.  You'll  go  to  Wendrum,  and  ride  over 
to  Milend  in  your  carriage  !  " 

Mrs.  Ogden's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  unfeigned 
amazement. 

"  A  cayridge !  a  cayridge  !  Why,  what  is  th'  lad  thinkin' 
about  now !  I  think  we  shall  soon  be  ridin'  into  prison.  Did 
ever  anybody  hear  the  like  ? " 

There  is  a  curious  superstition  about  carriage-keeping 
which  Mrs.  Ogden  fully  shared.  It  is  thought  to  be  the 
most  extravagant,  though  the  most  respectable,  way  of  spend- 
ing money ;  and  an  annual  outlay  which,  if  dissipated  in 
eating  and  drinking,  or  Continental  tours,  would  excite  no 
remark,  is  considered  extravagance  if  spent  on  a  comfortable 
vehicle  to  drive  about  in  one's  own  neighborhood.  Thus  Mrs. 
Ogden  considered  her  son's  proposition  as  revolutionary  —  as 
an  act  of  secession  from  the  simplicity  of  faith  and  practice 
which  had  been  their  rule  of  life  and  the  tradition  of  their 
family.  In  short,  it  produced  much  the  same  effect  upon  her 
mind  as  if  the  Shayton  parson  had  proposed  to  buy  a  gilded 
dalmatic  and  chasuble. 

"  There  's  folk,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden,  with  the  air  of  an  oracle 
—  "  there  's  folk  as  are  foolish  when  they  are  young,  and  grow 
wiser  as  they  advance  in  years.  But  there  's  other  folk  that 
is  wise  in  their  youth,  to  be  foolish  and  extravagant  at  an  age 
when  they  ought  to  know  better."  She  evidently  was  losing 
her  faith  in  the  prudence  of  her  son  Jacob.  When  they  had 
parted  for  the  night,  and  Mrs.  Ogden  got  into  her  bed,  the 
last  thing  she  uttered  as  she  stood  with  her  nightcap  on,  in 
her  long  white  night-gown,  was  the  following  brief  ejacula- 
tion :  — 

"  A  cayridge  !  a  cayridge  !     What  are  we  comin'  to  now  I  " 

But  the  last  thing  uncle  Jacob  thought,  as  he  settled  his 
head  on  his  lonely  pillow,  was,  "  It  'II  be  Ogden  of  Wen- 
drum,  J.P." 


Chap.  VIII.  At  CJiesnut  Hill.  345 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

AT    CHESNUT    HILL. 

WE  return  to  Garley's  Hotel  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
sale. 

Philip  Stanburne  had  recognized  the  Colonel,  and  gone  up 
to  him  to  shake  hands.  He  had  not  seen  him  before  since 
the  downfall  of  the  Sootythorn  Bank,  though  he  had  written 
a  very  feeling  letter,  in  which  he  had  begged  his  friend  to 
make  use  of  Stanithburn  Peel  so  long  as  he  might  care  to 
remain  in  Yorkshire.  Indeed  the  Colonel  had  received  many 
such  letters. 

Mr.  Stedman,  on  looking  about  for  Philip,  saw  him  with  the 
Colonel,  and  joined  them. 

"  Where  are  you  staying.  Colonel  Stanburne  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Stedman. 

"  I  have  been  staying  with  my  mother  lately  at  Wender- 
holme  Cottage.  I  have  persuaded  her  to  remain  there.  It  is 
better,  I  think,  that  an  old  lady  should  not  be  obliged  to 
change  all  her  habits.  I  hope  the  new  owner  will  allow  her 
to  remain.  She  will  have  very  good  neighbors  in  the  Prig- 
leys.  I  gave  the  living  of  Wenderholme  to  Mr.  Prigley  when 
the  old  vicar  died,  (about  three  months  since.  He  used  to  be 
the  incumbent  of  Shayton." 

**  It  will  be  a  great  advance  for  Mr.  Prigley.  Shayton  was 
a  poor  living,  but  I  have  heard  that  Wenderholme  is  much 
better." 

"  VVenderholme  is  worth  seven  hundred  a-year.  The  Prig- 
leys  have  been  very  poor  for  many  years,  with  their  numerous 


■7 


46  WeiiderJiol)}ie.  Part  ii. 


family  and  the  small  income  they  had  at  Shayton.  I  am 
very  glad,"  the  Colonel  added,  with  rather  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  that  I  was  able  to  do  this  for  them  before  my  own  ill- 
luck  overtook  me.  A  few  months  later  I  should  have  missed 
the  chance." 

"  Do  you  return  to  Wenderholme  to-night  ?  It  is  late,  is 
it  not?" 

"  No ;  I  mean  to  sleep  here  in  the  hotel." 

"  Would  you  accept  a  bed  at  Chesnut  Hill,  Colonel  Stan- 
burne?     Philip  is  staying  with  me." 

The  Colonel  was  only  too  glad  to  spend  the  rest  of  his 
evening  with  two  real  friends,  and  they  were  soon  in  the 
comfortable  dining-room  at  Chesnut  Hill.  The  Colonel  had 
often  met  Mr.  Stedman,  who  had  stayed  once  or  twice  for  a 
night  or  two  at  Wenderholme  ;  and  he  had  dined  a  few  times 
at  Chesnut  Hill,  and  had  stayed  all  night,  so  that  the  house 
was  not  altogether  strange  to  him ;  though,  since  he  had  re- 
peatedly met  with  Mr.  Stedman  at  Sootythorn  and  at  Stan- 
ithburn  Peel  (where  during  the  last  twelve  years  he  had  been 
a  frequent  visitor),  he  knew  the  owner  of  the  mansion  much 
more  intimately  than  the  mansion  itself. 

Ever  since  the  death  of  poor  Alice,  a  warm  friendship  had 
united  her  father  and  Philip  Stanburne  —  a  friendship  which 
had  been  beneficial  to  them  both.  Each  was  still  sincerely 
attached  to  his  own  convictions,  but  the  great  sorrow  which 
they  had  sufifered  in  common  had  drawn  them  together,  and 
Mr.  Stedman  considered  the  younger  man  as  nearly  related 
to  him  as  if  the  intended  marriage  had  actually  taken  place. 
Their  loss  had  been  of  that  kind  which  time  may  enable  us 
to  accept  as  an  inevitable  void  in  our  existence,  but  which  no 
amount  of  habit  can  ever  obliterate  from  the  memory.  Philip 
still  remembered  that  conversation  with  Alice  in  which  she 
had  begged  him  not  to  desert  her  father  in  his  old  age  ;  and 
Mr.  Stedman,  on  his  part,  felt  that  every  kindness  which  he 
could  show  to  the  man  whom  his  daughter  had  loved  was  a 


Chap.  VIII.  At  Chesnut  Hill.  347 

kindness  to  Alice  herself.  So  there  was  a  paternal  and  filial 
tie  between  these  two ;  and  though,  after  Alice's  death,  Philip 
had  resumed  his  so'itary  existence  at  Stanithburn,  and  Mr. 
Stedman  continued  his  business  as  a  cotton  manufacturer 
(for  he  felt  the  need  of  some  binding  occupation),  they  made 
use  of  each  other's  houses,  as  is  done  by  the  nearest  rela- 
tives ;  and  Mr.  Stedman  spent  many  a  summer  day  in  bota- 
nizing about  Stanithburn,  whilst  his  friend,  when  on  duty  in 
the  militia,  always  billeted  himself  at  Chesnut  Hill. 

"  What  is  the  last  news  about  our  poor  friend  Anison  ?  " 
the  Colonel  asked,  when  the  three  were  comfortably  seated  in 
Mr.  Stedman's  easy-chairs. 

"  It  cannot  be  very  good  news,  but  it  is  as  good  as  can  be 
expected.  His  works  and  Arkwright  Lodge  were  sold  by 
auction  three  days  since,  at  Whittlecup." 

"  And  who  bought  them  ?  " 

"  The  same  man.  Colonel  Stanburne,  who  purchased  Wen- 
derholme  this  evening  —  Jacob  Ogden  of  Shayton." 

"  They  must  be  rich,  those  Ogdens.  I  know  his  brother 
Isaac  very  well,  and  his  nephew  is  a  great  friend  of  mine,  but 
I  really  know  nothing  of  this  Jacob." 

"  He  is  the  only  rich  one  in  the  family,  but  he  is  a  rich  one. 
He  made  a  great  bargain  at  Whittlecup.  He  gave  twenty 
thousand  for  Anison's  works,  with  every  thing  in  them  in 
working  order ;  and  to  my  certain  knowledge,  Joseph  Anison 
had  a  capital  of  thirteen  thousand  sunk  in  copper  rollers 
alone.*  He  paid  four  thousand  for  Arkwright  Lodge.  It 's 
dirt  cheap.  The  house  alone  cost  more  than  that,  and  there  's 
thirty  acres  of  excellent  land.  I  wish  I  'd  bought  it  myself. 
I  missed  it  by  not  going  to  that  sale  ;  but  Philip  and  I  wanted 
to  bid  for  Wendei holme,  and  we  stayed  away  from  Whittlecup 
so  as  to  keep  out  of  temptation." 

*  The  engraved  copper  rollers  used  in  calico-printing.  The  larger 
printing  firms  sink  immense  sums  in  these  rollers,  far  surpassing  the 
above  estimate   for  Mr.  Anison,   who  was  only  .in  a  moderate  way  of 

businc^^s. 


34^  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 

"And  what  do  you  think  Mr.  Anison  will  do?" 
"  He  asked  Jacob  Ogden  to  let  him  remain  at  Whittlecup 
and  manage  the  works  for  a  very  moderate  salary,  but  Jacob 
declined  ;  and  in  doing  so  he  did  what  I  never  heard  of  him 
doing  before  —  he  acted  directly  against  his  own  interest. 
He  '1'  never  get  such  a  manager  as  Anison  would  have  been, 
but  he  refused  him  out  of  spite.  Twelve  years  ago  Madge 
Anison  jilted  Jacob  Ogden,  just  when  my  daughter  died.  He 
made  her  pay  up  a  thousand  for  breach  of  promise.  She's 
an  old  maid  now,  or  something  very  like  one,  for  she  's  over 
thirty-three  ;  but  Jacob  Ogden  hasn't  forgiven  her  for  jiltin' 
him,  and  never  will.  Last  news  I  had  of  Joseph  Anison,  he 
was  seeking  a  situation  in  Manchester,  and  his  three  girls  '11 
have  to  seek  situations  too.  It 's  a  bad  job  there  isn't  one  of 
'em  married  —  they  were  as  fine  lasses  as  a  man  need  set  his 
eyes  on,  and  in  their  father's  good  time  they'd  scores  of 
offers,  but  either  they  looked  too  high  or  else  they  were  very 
difficult  to  suit,  for  they  never  hooked  on,  somehow." 

Philip  Stanburne  knew  rather  more  about  Madge  Anison 
by  this  time  than  Mr.  Stedman  did,  and  could  have  en- 
lightened his  friends  concerning  her  had  he  been  so  minded. 
The  young  lady  had  thrown  Jacob  Ogden  over,  as  the  reader 
is  already  aware,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  leave  herself 
free  for  Philip  Stanburne  on  his  return  from  the  Continent 
after  the  death  of  Alice.  When  he  visited  his  friends  at 
Arkwright  Lodge,  Miss  Anison  had  not  had  the  degree  of 
prudence  necessary  to  conceal  her  designs,  and  Philip  (to 
his  intense  disgust,  for  all  his  thoughts  were  with  the  gentle 
creature  he  had  so  recently  lost)  perceived  that  he  was 
the  object  which  Margaret  had  in  view.  A  young  lady  can 
scarcely  commit  a  greater  mistake  than  to  make  advances 
to  a  man  so  saddened  as  Philip  was  then  ;  for  in  such  a 
condition  of  mind  he  has  not  the  buoyancy  of  spirit  neces- 
sary for  a  flirtation,  and  it  is  only  through  a  flirtation  that  he 
can  be  led  to  pay  his  addresses  in  earnest.     Poor  Margaret 


ciiAP.  viii.  At  Chesnut  Hill.  349 

had  fatally  under-estimated  the  duration  of  Philip  Stanburne's 
sorrow,  and  also  the  keenness  of  his  perceptions.  For  instead 
of  his  being  less  observant  and  easier  to  manage  than  he  had 
been  before  that  episode  in  his  life,  it  had  so  wrought  upon 
his  intellect  and  his  feelings  as  to  be  equivalent  to  the  experi- 
ence of  years.  In  a  word,  her  project  had  ended  in  total 
failure,  and  the  sense  of  this  failure  gave  a  certain  petulance 
and  irritability  to  her  manner,  and  lent  a  sharpness  of  sar- 
casm tD  her  tongue,  which  did  not  induce  other  gentlemen  to 
aspire  to  that  happiness  which  Philip  had  refused.  So  she 
was  Margaret  Anison  still,  and  at  the  present  period  of  our 
story  was  trying,  not  very  successfully,  to  obtain  a  situation 
in  Manchester. 

It  was  Mr.  Stedman's  custom,  as  in  Lancashire  it  is  the 
custom  of  his  class,  to  have  a  little  supper  about  nine  or  ten 
o'clock  —  a  pleasant  and  sociable  meal,  though  not  always 
quite  suitable  to  persons  of  feeble  digestion.  Colonel  Stan- 
burne,  on  the  other  hand,  according  to  the  custom  of  his  class, 
dined  substantially  at  seven,  and  took  nothing  later  except 
tobacco-smoke.  This  evening,  however,  he  was  in  a  position 
to  conform  to  the  custom  of  Chesnut  Hill ;  for  though  he  had 
dined  at  Mr.  Garley's  an  hour  before  the  time  fixed  for  the 
sale,  he  had  felt  so  melancholy  about  it,  and  so  anxious  to 
know  who  would  be  the  future  possessor  of  his  home,  that 
he  had  eaten  a  very  poor  dinner  indeed.  But  now  that  the 
thing  was  decided,  and  that  he  found  himself  with  two  such 
kind  and  faithful  friends  (whose  manner  to  him  was  exactly 
the  same  as  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity),  John 
Stanburne's  naturally  powerful  appetite  reasserted  itself  at 
the  expense  of  Mr.  Stedman's  cold  roast-beef,  which,  with 
plenty  of  pickles  and  mashed  potatoes,  formed  the  staple  of 
the  repast. 

The  Colonel  was  already  beginning  to  learn  the  great  art 
of  miserable  men  —  the  art  which  enables  them  to  gain  in 
hours  of   comparative  happiness   the  energy  and    elasticity 


350  WenderJiolme.  Part  ii. 

necessary  for  future  times  of  trial  —  the  art  of  laying  un- 
happiness  aside  like  a  pinching  boot,  and  of  putting  their 
weary  feet  into  the  soft  slippers  of  a  momentary  contentment. 
Wenderholme  was  sold  —  it  belonged  to  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  ; 
why  think  of  Wenderholme  any  more  ?  The  Colonel  actually 
succeeded  in  dismissing  the  matter  from  his  thoughts  for  at 
least  five  minutes  at  a  time,  till  a  sort  of  pang  would  come 
upon  his  heart,  and  he  rapidly  asked  himself  what  the  pang 
meant,  and  then  he  knew  that  it  meant  Wenderholme. 

One  very  curious  consequence  of  the  great  event  of  that 
day  was  this,  that  whereas  the  last  time  he  had  been  to 
Chesnut  Hill  (in  the  days  of  his  prosperity)  the  place  had 
seemed  to  him  both  vulgar  and  unenviable,  he  now  appre- 
ciated certain  qualities  about  the  place  which  before  had 
been  by  him  altogether  imperceptible.  For  example,  when 
he  was  rich,  mere  comfort  had  never  been  one  of  his  objects. 
Having  the  power  to  create  it  wherever  he  might  happen  to 
be,  he  had  often  done  very  well  without  it,  and  his  rooms  in 
barracks,  or  his  den  in  his  own  mansion,  had  been  often  very 
destitute  thereof.  But  now  that  it  had  become  highly  proba- 
ble that  comfort  would  soon  be  beyond  his  reach,  he  began 
to  awaken  to  a  perception  of  it.  The  warm  red  flock-paper 
on  Mr.  Stedman's  dining-room  wall,  the  good  carpet  on  the 
floor,  the  clean  white  table-cloth,  the  comfortable  morocco- 
covered  chairs  —  all  these  things  began  to  attract  his  attention 
in  quite  a  novel  and  remarkable  manner.  And  yet  hitherto 
he  had  continued  to  live  like  a  gentleman,  therefore,  what 
will  it  be,  I  wonder,  when  he  is  reduced  a  good  deal  lower  in 
the  world  ? 

When  they  had  done  supper,  and  were  drinking  the  inevi- 
table grog,  Mr.  Stedman  said  to  the  Colonel, — 

"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  am  guilty  of  any  indiscre- 
tion. Colonel  Stanburne,  but  you  know  you  are  with  sincere 
friends.     May  I  ask  what  your  own  plans  are  .''  " 

Mr.   Stedman's   age,  and  his  evident  good-will,  made  the 


Chap.  VIII.  At  Ckesuut  Hill.  35 1 

question  less  an  indiscretion  than  an  acceptable  proof  of 
kindness,  and  the  Colonel  took  it  in  that  way.  "  My  dear 
Mr.  Stedman,"  he  said  in  answer,  "you  know  a  position  like 
mine  is  very  embarrassing.  I  am  getting  on  in  life  —  I  mean 
I  am  getting  oldish  ;  I  never  had  a  profession  by  which  money 
could  be  earned,  you  know,  though  I  have  been  in  the  army, 
but  that 's  not  a  trade  to  live  by.  As  to  the  colonelcy  of  the 
militia,  the  lord-lieutenant  has  my  resignation.  No,  I  can't 
see  any  thing  very  clearly  just  now.  The  only  thing  I  'm  fit 
for  is  driving  a  public  coach." 

Philip  Stanburne  said,  "  Why  did  you  refuse  to  come  and 
live  at  the  Peel?  You  would  have  been  very  welcome  —  you 
would  be  welcome  still."  It  was  already  publicly  understood 
that  the  Colonel  and  Lady  Helena  were  separated,  and  that 
Miss  Stanburne  would  either  follow  her  ladyship  to  Lord 
Adisham's,  or  remain  with  her  old  grandmother. 

"  My  dear  Philip,"  the  Colonel  said,  very  sadly  and  affec- 
tionately, laying  his  hand  on  Philip's  hand — "my  dear  Philip, 
if  I  were  quite  old  and  done  for,  I  would  have  no  false  pride. 
I  would  come  to  the  Peel  and  live  with  you,  and  you  should 
buy  me  a  suit  of  clothes  once  every  two  years,  and  give  me 
a  little  tobacco,  and  a  sovereign  or  two  for  pocket-money.  I 
would  take  all  this  from  you.  But  you  see,  Philip,  though 
I  'm  not  a  clever  man,  and  though  I  really  have  no  profession, 
still  my  bodily  health  and  strength  are  left  to  me,  thank  God  ; 
and  so  long  as  I  have  these,  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  try  in 
some  way  to  earn  my  living  for  myself.  You  know  that 
Helena  and  I  are  separated  —  everybody  seems  to  know  it 
now.  Well,  I  got  a  letter  from  her  father  this  morning,  in 
which  —  but  stop,  I'll  show  you  the  letter  itself.  Will  you 
read  it,  Mr.  Stedman  ?  " 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  My  daughter  Helena  desires  me  to  say  to 
you,  that  as  you  shared  your  means  with  her  in  the  time  of 
your  prosperity,  so  it  is  her  desire  that  you  should  share  her 


oD 


2  Wendeyholme.  Part  II. 


income  now  in  your  adversity.  A  sum  of  three  hundred 
a-year  will  therefore  be  paid  to  your  credit  at  any  banker's 
you  may  be  pleased  to  name. 

"  Your  obedient  servant,  Adisham." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Stedman,  "  you  may  still  live  very  com- 
fortably as  a  single  man  on  such  an  income  as  three  hundred 
a-year.     It  is  a  great  deal  of  money." 

"  I  have  accepted  Lady  Helena's  offer,  but  not  for  myself. 
I  will  not  touch  one  penny  of  Lord  Adisham's  allowance.  I 
have  told  the  banker  to  pay  it  over  to  my  mother,  whom  I  have 
ruined.  She  has  not  a  penny  in  the  world.  However,  you 
see  Helena  is  provided  for,  since  she  is  living  at  Lord 
Adisham's  (a  very  good  house  to  live  in),  and  my  mother  is 
provided  for,  and  between  them  they  will  keep  Edith  till  I 
can  do  something  for  her ;  so  my  mind  is  easy  about  these 
three  ladies,  and  I  've  nobody  to  provide  for  but  myself 
Any  man  with  a  sound  constitution  ought  to  be  able  to  earn 
his  bread.  You  see,  Philip,  my  mind  is  made  up.  There  is 
still,  notwithstanding  my  misfortune,  a  spirit  of  independence 
in  me  which  will  not  permit  me  to  live  upon  the  kindness  of 
my  friends.  But  I  am  very  greatly  obliged  both  to  you  and 
others  —  to  you  more  especially." 

"  Well,  Colonel,  haven't  I  a  right  to  offer  you  some  assist- 
ance ?     Are  we  not  relations  ?  " 

The  Colonel  looked  at  Philip  with  tender  affection,  and 
gently  pressed  his  hand.  Then  he  said  to  Mr.  Stedman  : 
"  This  young  friend  of  yours  never  called  me  a  relation  of  his 
when  I  was  prosperous,  but  now  when  I  am  a  poor  man  he 
claims  me.  Isn't  he  an  eccentric  fellow,  to  lay  claim  to  a 
poor  relation  ?  " 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast-time  the  Colonel  did  not 
appear.  The  servant  said  he  had  risen  very  early,  and  left 
a  note. 


Chap.  VIII.  At  Ckesnut  Hill.  353 

"  My  dear  and  kind  Friends,  —  I  came  to  a  decision  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  but  will  not  just  now  tell  you  what 
it  is.  The  decision  having  been  come  to,  I  am  determined 
to  act  upon  it  at  once,  and  leave  Chesnut  Hill  to  catch  the 
early  train.  Pray  excuse  this,  and  believe  me,  with  much 
gratitude  for  all  your  kindness, 

"  Yours  most  truly,  John  Stanburne." 


n 


J 54  WenderJiolme.  Part  ii. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OGDEN    OF    WENDERHOLME. 

THE  Ogdens  did  not  go  to  live  at  Wenderholme  for  a 
long  time,  indeed  Mrs.  Ogden  did  not  even  go  to  see 
the  place  ;  but  her  son  Jacob  went  over  one  day  in  a  gig,  and, 
in  the  course  of  his  stay  of  a  few  hours,  settled  more  points 
of  detail  than  a  country  gentleman  would  have  settled  in  a 
month.  He  planted  an  agent  there,  and  took  on  several 
of  Colonel  Stanburne's  outdoor  servants,  including  all  his 
gamekeepers,  but  for  the  present  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
make  any  use  of  Wenderholme  as  a  residence.  He  had  been 
present  at  the  sale  of  the  furniture,  where  he  had  bought 
every  thing  belonging  to  the  principal  rooms,  except  a  few 
old  cabinets  and  chairs,  and  other  odd  matters,  of  which  the 
reader  may  hear  more  in  a  future  chapter. 

It  had  always  been  a  characteristic  of  the  Ogdens  not  to 
be  in  a  hurry  to  enjoy.  They  would  wait,  and  wait,  for  any 
of  the  good  things  of  this  world  —  perhaps  to  prolong  the 
sweet  time  of  anticipation,  perhaps  simply  because  the  habit 
of  saving,  so  firmly  ingrained  in  their  natures,  is  itself  a  habit 
of  waiting  and  postponing  enjoyment  in  favor  of  ulterior  aims. 
But  in  the  case  of  Wenderholme,  the  habit  of  postponing  a 
pleasure  was  greatly  helped  by  an  especial  kind  of  pride. 
Both  Jacob  Ogden  and  his  mother  were  proud  to  a  degree 
which  may  sometimes  have  been  equalled,  but  can  never 
have  been  surpassed,  by  the  proudest  chiefs  of  the  aristoc- 
racy. Their  pride,  as  I  have  said,  was  of  a  peculiar  kind, 
and  consisted  far  more  in  an  intense  satisfaction  with  them- 


Chap.  IX.  Ogdcn  of  W aider holme.  355 

selves  and  their  own  ways,  than  in  any  ambition  to  be  thought, 
or  to  become,  different  from  what  they  were.  Now,  it  would 
not  have  been  possible  to  imagine  any  thing  more  exquisitely 
agreeable  to  this  pride  of  theirs  than  that  Wenderholme  Hall 
should  be  treated  as  an  appendage  to  Milend,  that  the  great 
kitchen-gardens  at  Wenderholme  should  supply  vegetables, 
and  the  hothouse  grapes,  to  the  simple  table  in  the  little 
plain  house  at  Shayton.  It  was  delightful  to  Mrs.  Ogden  to 
be  able  to  say,  in  a  tone  of  assumed  indifference  or  semi- 
disapproval,  "  Since  our  Jacob  bought  Wenderholme,  he  's 
always  been  wishin'  me  to  go  to  see  it  —  and  they  say  it 's 
a  very  fine  place  —  but  I  don't  want  to  go  to  see  it;  Milend 
is  good  enough  for  me."  If  the  hearer  expressed  a  natural 
degree  of  astonishment,  Mrs.  Ogden  was  inwardly  delighted, 
but  showed  no  sign  of  it  on  her  countenance.  On  the  con- 
trary, her  eyebrows  would  go  up,  and  the  wrinkles  upon  her 
forehead  would  assume  quite  a  melancholy  appearance,  and 
her  stony  gray  eyes  would  look  out  drearily  into  vacancy.  In 
short,  the  impression  which  both  Jacob  Ogden  and  his  mother 
wished  to  produce  upon  all  their  friends  and  acquaintances 
after  the  purchase  of  Wenderholme  was,  that  the  mansion 
and  estate  of  the  Stanburnes  could  add  nothing  to  the  im- 
portance of  the  family  at  Milend. 

So  pleasant  was  it  to  Mrs.  Ogden  to  be  able  to  say  that  she 
had  never  been  to  Wenderholme  that,  although  she  burned 
with  curiosity  to  behold  its  magnificence,  she  restrained  herself 
month  after  month.  Meanwhile  her  son  Jacob  was  getting 
forward  very  rapidly  with  a  project  he  had  entertained  for 
twelve  years  —  that  is,  ever  since  the  idea  of  purchasing 
Wenderholme  had  first  shaped  itself  in  his  mind  —  the  road 
from  his  mills  in  Shayton  to  the  house  at  Wenderholme, 
direct  across  the  moors.  He  set  about  this  with  the  energy 
of  a  little  Napoleon  (Emerson  tells  us  that  the  natural  chiefs 
of  our  industrial  classes  are  all  little  Napoleons),  and  in  a 
ew  weeks  the  road  existed.     Posts  were  set  up  on  the  side 


356  Wender holme.  Part  ii. 

of  it,  and  a  telegraphic  wire  connected  the  counting-house  at 
Ogden's  mill  with  a  certain  little  room  in  Wenderholme  Hall, 
which  he  destined  for  his  private  use. 

Even  already,  though  Jacob  Ogden  is  still  quietly  living  at 
Milend,  he  knows  incomparably  more  about  the  Wenderholme 
property  than  John  Stanburne  ever  knew,  or  any  of  John 
Stanburne's  ancestors  before  him.  He  knows  the  precise 
condition  of  every  field,  or  part  of  a  field,  and  what  is  to  be 
done  to  it.  Even  in  such  a  majtter  as  gardening,  the  gardener 
finds  him  uncheatable,  though  how  he  acquired  that  knowl- 
edge is  a  mystery,  for  you  can  hardly  call  that  a  "  garden  " 
at  Milend. 

It  follows,  from  all  these  valuable  qualifications  of  Mr. 
Jacob  Ogden,  that  he  was  likely  to  be  an  excellent  Mentor  for 
such  a  youth  as  his  nephew,  destined  to  have  to  support  the 
cares,  and  see  his  way  through  the  perplexities,  of  property. 
And  he  took  him  seriously  in  hand  about  this  time,  with  the 
consent  of  the  lad's  father,  who  was  well  aware  that  without 
experience  in  affairs  his  boy's  education  could  not  (in  any  but 
the  narrow  sense  of  the  word,  as  it  is  used  by  pedagogues)  be 
considered  to  be  complete. 

Young  Jacob  had  to  get  up  regularly  at  five  in  the  morning 
and  accompany  his  uncle  to  the  mill,  where  he  saw  the  hands 
enter.  After  this,  his  time  was  divided  between  the  counting- 
house  and  overlooking  ;  but  his  duty  at  the  mill  was  very 
frequently  broken  by  orders  from  his  uncle  to  go  and  inspect 
the  improvements  which  were  in  progress  on  his  various  es- 
tates, especially,  at  this  particular  time,  the  road  from  Shay- 
ton  to  Wenderholme.  The  youth  made  these  journeys  on 
horseback,  and,  being  uncommonly  well  mounted,  accom- 
plished them  more  rapidly  than  his  uncle  Jacob,  with  all  his 
shrewdness,  ever  calculated  upon.  In  this  way  the  inspection 
of  the  new  road  permitted  very  frequent  visits  to  Wender- 
h')lme  Cottage,  where,  for  the  present,  Miss  Edith  resided 
with  her  grandmother. 


Chap.  X.  Youiior  Jacob  a7id  Editk.  357 


CHAPTER  X. 

YOUNG  JACOB  AND   EDITH. 

THE  state  of  affairs  between  Edith  and  young  Jacob  was 
this.  Nothing  had  been  said  of  marriage,  but  their 
attachment  was  as  perfectly  understood  between  them  as  if  it 
had  been  openly  expressed.  The  misfortune  of  their  situation 
had  been,  that  although  many  circumstances  had  been  deci- 
dedly favorable  to  them,  it  had  never  been  possible  to  unite 
all  the  favorable  circumstances  together  at  the  same  time,  so 
as  to  get  themselves  formally  engaged.  In  the  days  of  Colo- 
nel Stanburne's  splendor  and  prosperity  the  Milend  influence 
had  been  openly  encouraging,  but  Lady  Helena  had  warned 
Edith  in  such  a  decided  way  against  allowing  herself  to  form 
a  plebeian  attachment,  the  allusion  to  young  Jacob  being  (as 
it  was  intended  to  be)  as  intelligible  as  if  she  had  named 
him,  that  it  had  been  considered  prudent  by  both  the  lovers 
to  refrain  from  compromising  the  future  by  precipitation,  and 
they  had  waited  in  the  hope  that,  by  the  pressure  of  con- 
stantly increasing  riches,  her  ladyship's  opposition  might 
finally  be  made  to  give  way.  If  Colonel  Stanburne  had 
continued  prosperous,  the  Milend  influence  was  so  strongly, 
even  eagerly,  in  favor  of  the  alliance,  that  it  would  have  sub- 
sidized its  candidate  very  largely ;  and  as  its  power  of  subsi- 
dizing increased  every  day,  it  was  evident  that,  by  simply 
waiting,  his  prospects  would  steadily  improve.  But  the  Colo- 
nel's ruin,  utter  and  hopeless  as  it  was,  had  set  the  Milend 
influence  on  the  other  side  ;  and  nobody  who  knew  the  obsti- 
nacy of  Jacob  Ogden  in  opposition,  and  the  relentless  lengths 


358  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 

to  which  he  would  go  to  get  himself  obeyed,  or  to  inflict  pun- 
ishment on  those  who  had  opposed  him,  could  doubt  that,  if 
his  nephew  refused  compliance  in  this  instance,  it  would  be 
equivalent  to  a  total  renunciation  of  his  prospects. 

Edith  Stanburne  had  inherited  much  of  her  mother's  per- 
spicacity, with  the  Colonel's  frank  and  genial  manner.  Some 
people,  Mrs.  Prigley  amongst  the  number,  disapproved  of 
Edith's  manner,  and  considered  her  a  "  bold  girl,"  because 
.she  looked  people  straight  in  the  face,  and  had  not  yet  learned 
the  necessity  for  dissimulating  her  sentiments.  But  what  ex- 
perienced man  of  the  world  would  not  give  half  his  subtlety 
for  that  boldness  which  comes  from  the  perfect  harmony  of 
our  nature  with  its  surroundings  ?  Why,  that  is  simply  a  defi- 
nition of  happiness  itself !  When  we  have  learned  to  be 
careful,  it  is  because  we  have  perceived  that  between  our  real 
selves  and  the  world  around  us  there  is  so  little  harmony  that 
they  would  clash  continually,  so  we  invent  a  false  artificial 
self  that  may  be  in  harmony  with  the  world,  and  make  it  live 
our  outward  life  for  us,  talk  for  us  in  drawing-rooms  and  at 
the  dinner-table,  and  go  through  the  weary  round  of  public 
pleasures  and  observances. 

It  is  the  worst  possible  sign  of  approaching  unhappiness 
when  courage  begins  to  give  way,  and  this  hour  had  come  for 
Edith.  Young  Jacob,  relying  upon  the  speed  of  his  horse, 
had,  on  one  or  two  occasions,  prolonged  his  visits  to  Wender- 
holme Cottage  long  enough  to  excite  his  uncle's  suspicions. 
Jacob  Ogden  inquired  whether  Miss  Stanburne  was  with  her 
mother  at  Lord  Adisham's,  or  with  her  grandmother  at  Wen- 
derholme. The  young  man  said  he  "  believed  "  she  was  with 
her  grandmother. 

"  Oh,  you  '  believe,'  do  you,  young  un  ?  Cannot  you  tell 
me  for  certain  ?  " 

Young  Jacob  was  no  match  for  his  keen-eyed  relations  at 
Milend,  who  saw  through  the  whole  matter  in  a  minute. 

"  That  horse  o'  yours  is  a  fast  un,  little  Jacob,  but  it  isn't 


Chap.  X.  Young  Jacob  and  Edith.  359 

quite  sharp  enough  to  make  up  for  three  hours'  courtin'  at 
Wendrum." 

The  next  day  young  Jacob  was  sent  to  look  over  works  in 
a  totally  opposite  direction  ;  and  as  he  had  a  good  many 
measurements  to  take,  there  was  no  chance  of  getting  any 
time  to  himself.  Twenty-four  hours  later  Miss  Stanburne 
received  the  following  letter  :  — 

"  Madam,  —  I  have  discovered  that  my  nephew  has  been 
idling  his  time  away  at  Wenderholme  Cottage.  You  may, 
perhaps,  know  how  he  was  occupied.  Excuse  me  if  I  say 
that,  if  my  nephew  idles  his  time  away  at  Wenderholme  Cot- 
tage, he  will  never  be  a  rich  man. 

"  Yours  truly,  Jacob  Ogden." 

The  note  was  very  intelligible,  and  the  consequence  of  it 
was,  that  Edith  resolved  to  sacrifice  herself.  "  I  love  him  too 
much,"  she  said,  "  to  ruin  him." 

The  reader  may  remember  one  Jerry  Smethurst  whom 
Isaac  Ogden  met  at  Whittlecup  when  on  duty  in  the  militia, 
and  with  whom  he  got  drunk  for  the  last  time.  It  is  twelve 
years  since  then,  a  long  interval  in  any  place,  but  an  especially 
long  interval  in  Shayton,  where  delirium  tremens  carries  off 
the  mature  males  with  a  rapidity  elsewhere  unknown.  There 
had  been  hundreds  of  deaths  from  drinking  in  that  township 
since  1853  ;  and  of  all  the  jolly  companions  who  used  to 
meet  at  the  Red  Lion,  the  only  one  remaining  was  the  propri- 
etor of  Twistle  Farm.  James  Hardcastle,  the  innkeeper,  was 
dead  ;  Seth  Schofield  was  in  Shayton  churchyard,  and  so  was 
Jerry  Smethurst.  A  new  generation  was  drinking  itself  to 
death  in  that  parlor,  served  by  another  landlord. 

Most  of  these  worthies  had  ruined  themselves  in  fortune  as 
in  health.  Men  cannot  spend  their  time  in  public-houses 
without  their  business  feeling  the  effects  of  it  ;  and  they  can- 
not fuddle  their  intellects  with  beer  and  brandy  and  preserve 
their  clearness  for  arithmetic.     So,  as  the  prosperity  of  a  so- 


2,bo  Wender holme.  Part  ii. 

ciety  is  the  prosperity  of  the  individuals  composing  it,  Shay- 
ton  was  not  a  very  prosperous  localit}^,  and,  in  comparison 
with  Sootythorn,  lagged  wofully  behindhand  in  the  race.  A 
few  men,  however,  managed  somehow  to  reconcile  business 
and  the  brandy-bottle,  and  the  most  successful  conciliator  of 
pleasure  and  afifairs  had  been  the  notable  Jerry  Smethurst. 
He  managed  it  by  never  drinking  any  thing  before  the  mill 
was  closed  ;  drink,  to  him,  was  the  reward  of  the  labors  of 
the  day,  and  not  their  accompaniment.  His  constitution  had 
been  strong  enough  to  resist  this  double  strain  of  laborious 
days  and  convivial  evenings  for  a  much  longer  time  than  Dr. 
Bardly  ever  expected  ;  and  when  the  end  came,  which  it  did 
by  a  single  attack  of  delirium  tremens^  succeeded  by  a  fit  of 
apoplexy  (the  patient  had  always  apprehended  apoplexy),  Mr. 
Smethurst's  affairs  were  found  to  be  in  admirable  order,  and 
his  only  daughter,  then  a  fine  girl  of  fourteen,  became  heiress 
to  an  extensive  mill  and  a  quantity  of  building  land,  as  well 
as  many  shops  and  tenements  in  the  interior  of  the  town 
which  would  infallibly  increase  in  value.  In  a  word,  Sarah 
Smethurst  was  worth  forty  thousand  now,  and  would  be 
worth  a  hundred  thousand  in  twenty  years  ;  so  that,  as  the 
charms  of  her  youth  faded,  the  man  fortunate  enough  to  win 
her  might  count  upon  a  progressive  compensation  in  the  in- 
crease of  her  estate. 

Jacob  Ogden,  senior,  was  very  accurately  acquainted  with 
Miss  Smethurst's  property,  and  could  calculate  its  future  value 
to  a  nicety.  He  had  the  best  opportunities  for  knowing  these 
matters,  being  one  of  Jerry  Smethurst's  trustees.  When 
Colonel  Stanburne  was  a  rich  man,  Jacob  Ogden  would  have 
preferred  Miss  Stanburne  for  his  nephew  to  any  girl  in  Sally 
Smethurst's  position  ;  for  though  nobody  could  love  and  ap- 
preciate money  more  than  Jacob  did,  he  wished  to  see  his 
nephew  take  a  higher  place  in  society  than  money  of  itself 
would  be  able  to  procure  for  him.  As  in  mixing  a  glass  of 
grog  tli(.'  lime  comes  when  we  want  no  more  spirit,  but  turn 


Chap.  X.  Votino^  Jacob  and  Edith.  36 1 

our  attention  to  the  sugar-basin,  although  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  spirit  is  the  main  thing  (since  without  it  the 
glass  would  be  nothing  but  eau  sucree),  so,  when  we  want  to 
make  that  composite  of  perfections,  a  gentleman,  there  is  a 
time  when  money  is  no  longer  needed,  though  that  is  the  main 
element  of  his  strength,  and  we  turn  our  attention  to  the 
sugar-basin  of  the  cotnme  il  faut.  When  Jacob  Ogden,  se- 
nior, was  favorable  to  the  Wenderholme  match,  it  was  not  so 
much  on  account  of  Miss  Stanburne's  money  as  on  account 
of  her  decided  position  as  a  young  lady  of  the  aristocracy ; 
and  when  the  Colonel  was  ruined,  he  did  not  disapprove  of 
the  match  because  Miss  Stanburne  would  have  no  fortune,  but 
because  her  position  as  member  of  a  county  family  had  been 
upset  by  her  father's  bankruptcy. 

Well,  if  the  lad  could  not  marry  like  a  gentleman,  he  should 
marry  like  a  prince  among  cotton-spinners,  and  contract  alli- 
ance with  a  princess  of  his  own  order.  Sally  Smethurst  was 
such  a  princess.  Therefore  it  was  decided  that  young  Jacob 
should  espouse  Sally  Smethurst. 

And  a  very  nice  lass  she  was,  too  —  a  nice  fat  lass,  with 
cheeks  like  a  milkmaid,  that  anybody  might  have  been  glad 
to  kiss.  Mrs.  Ogden  invited  her  to  stop  at  Milend,  and 
young  Jacob  saw  her  every  day.  But  the  effect  of  this 
acquaintance  was  precisely  contrary  to  uncle  Jacob's  plans 
and  intentions.  Sally  had  never  been  out  of  Shayton  in  her 
life,  except  to  a  school  at  Lytham,  and  she  had  not  a  word  to 
say.  Neither  was  her  deportment  graceful.  A  good  lass 
enough,  and  well  to  do,  but  not  the  woman  with  whom  an 
intelligent  man  would  be  anxious  to  pass  his  existence. 

The  image  of  Miss  Stanburne,  already  somewhat  idealized 
by  absence,  was  elevated  to  the  divine  by  this  contrast. 
There  is  no  surer  way  of  making  a  noble  youth  worship  some 
noble  maiden,  than  by  presenting  to  him  a  virgin  typical  of 
the  commonplace,  and  ordering  him  to  marry  her.  Edith 
became  henceforth  the  object  of  young  Jacob's  ardent  and 


362  Wender holme.  Part  11 

chivalrous  adoration.  Two  fortunes  —  his  uncle's  and  Sally 
Smethursl's  —  making  in  the  aggregate  a  prodigious  heap  of 
money,  were  offered  to  him  as  the  reward  of  infidelity,  and 
the  higher  the  bribe  rose,  the  higher  rose  his  spirit  of  i-e- 
sistance. 

Sally  had  come  to  Milend  on  a  Wednesday.  She  was  to 
stay  Sunday  over,  and  go  to  Shayton  Church  with  the  Ogdens. 
On  Saturday  night,  at  tea-time,  young  Jacob  declared  his 
intention  of  going  to  Twistle  Farm. 

"Why,  and  willn't  ye  stop  Sunday  with  us  and  Miss  Sme 
thurst,  and  go  to  Shayton  Church  ? " 

"  I  haven't  seen  my  father  for  a  fortnight." 

"Then,  all  that  I  've  got  to  say,"  observed  Mrs.  Ogden,  "is, 
that  it 's  your  father's  own  wickedness  that 's  the  cause  of  it. 
If  he  came  regularly  to  church,  as  he  ought  to  do,  you  'd  be 
sure  to  see  him  to-morrow,  and  every  Sunday  as  well,  and 
you  'd  have  no  need  to  go  up  to  Twistle  Farm.  I  could  like 
to  drag  him  to  Shayton  Church  by  the  hair  of  his  head,  that 
I  could!"  Here  Mrs.  Ogden  paused  and  sipped  her  tea-^ 
then  she  resumed,  — 

"  I  declare  I  will  ?iot  have  you  goin'  up  to  Twistle  Farm  and 
missin'  church  in  that  way.  It 's  awful  to  think  of !  You  miss 
church  many  a  Sunday  to  go  and  stop  with  your  father,  who 
should  know  better,  and  set  you  a  better  example." 

The  lad  drank  his  scalding  tea,  and  rose  from  the  table. 
He  was  not  a  boor,  however  ;  and,  offering  his  hand  to  Miss 
Smethurst,  he  said,  very  courteously,  "  I  am  sorry.  Miss  Sme- 
I  hurst,  not  to  have  the  pleasure  of  going  to  church  with  you  to- 
morrow ;  it  looks  rude  of  me,  but  many  things  trouble  me  just 
now,  and  I  must  talk  them  over,  both  with  my  father  and 
somebody  else."  And  with  that,  and  a  simple  good-night  to 
tile  elder  people,  he  left  the  room. 

The  owner  of  Twistle  Farm  had  become  a  great  recluse 
since  he  gave  up  drinking,  except  during  his  weeks  of  active 
duty  in  the  militia,  and  occasional  visits  to  his  brother  officers. 


Chap.  X.  Young  Jacob  and  Edith.  36 


t 


In  fact,  a  Shayton  man,  not  in  business,  must  either  be  a 
drunkard  or  a  recluse ;  and  Ogden,  by  his  own  experience, 
had  learned  to  prefer  the  latter.  Young  Jacob,  however,  had 
a  friend  in  Shayton  who  did  not  lead  quite  such  a  retired  life, 
and  whose  opinion  on  the  present  crisis  it  might  be  worth 
while  to  ask  for.  Need  I  say  that  this  friend  was  the  worthy 
doctor,  Mr.  Bardly  ? 

So,  when  the  young  gentleman  rode  through  the  town  on 
his  way  to  Twistle  Farm,  he  turned  into  the  Doctor's  yard. 

The  twelve  years  that  have  passed  since  we  saw  the  Doctor 
have  rather  aged  him,  but  they  have  certainly  deducted  noth- 
ing from  the  vigor  of  his  mind.  He  received  his  young  friend 
with  his  old  heartiness  of  manner,  and  made  him  promise 
to  stop  supper  with  him.  "  You  '11  ride  up  to  Twistle  Farm 
after  supper ;  your  father  willn't  be  gone  to  bed  —  he  sits  up 
reading  till  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  wish  he  wouldn't. 
I  'm  sure  he  's  injuring  his  eyes." 

Young  Jacob  laid  the  perplexities  of  his  case  before  his 
experienced  friend.  The  Doctor  heard  him  for  nearly  an 
hour  with  scarcely  a  word  of  comment.     Then  he  began  :  — 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  little  Jacob ;  you  're  not  inde- 
pendent, because  you  haven't  got  a  profession,  don't  you 
see  ?  You  've  had  a  fine  education,  but  it 's  worth  nothing 
to  live  by,  unless  you  turn  schoolmaster  ;  and  in  England, 
education  is  altogether  in  the  hands  o'  them  parsons.  Your 
father  isn't  rich  enough  to  keep  a  fine  gentleman  like  you, 
never  talk  o'  keepin'  a  fine  wife.  That 's  how  it  is  as  you  're 
dependent  on  them  at  Milend,  and  they  know  it  well  enough. 
You  '11  always  be  same  as  a  childt  for  your  uncle  and  your 
grandmother,  and  you  '11  'ave  to  do  just  as  they  bid  you.  As 
long  as  your  uncle  lives  you  '11  be  a  minor.  I  know  him  well 
enough.  He  governs  everybody  he  can  lay  his  hands  on, 
and  your  grandmother  's  exactly  one  o'  th'  same  sort ;  she  's 
a  governin'  woman,  is  your  grandmother  —  a  governin'  woman. 
There  's  a  certain  proportion  of  women  as  is  made  to  rule 
folk,  and  she  's  one  on  'em." 


3^4  Weiidcrlioimc.  Taki  il 

"  Well,  but,  Doctor,  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  ? " 

"  I  'm  comin'  to  that,  lad.  There  's  two  courses  before  you, 
and  you  mun  choose  one  on  'em,  and  follow  it  out.  You  mun 
either  just  make  up  your  mind  to  submit  to  them  at  Milend  " — 

"  And  desert  Edith .?  " 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  and  wed  Sally  Smethurst  beside,  and  be 
manager  of  Ogden's  mills,  and  collect  his  cottage-rents,  and 
dun  poor  folk,  and  be  cowed  for  thirty  years  by  your  uncle, 
and  have  to  render  'count  to  him  of  every  hour  of  every  day 
—  for  he'll  live  thirty  years,  will  your  uncle;  or  else  you 
mun  learn  a  profession,  and  be  independent  on  him." 

"  Independence  would  be  a  fine  thing  certainly,  but  it  is 
not  every  profession  that  would  suit  the  aristocratic  preju- 
dices of  Lady  Helena.  I  think  it  very  likely  the  Colonel 
would  give  his  consent,  for  he  has  always  treated  me  very 
kindly,  and  he  must  have  seen  that  I  was  thinking  of  Edith, 
but  with  Lady  Helena  the  case  is  different.  She  was  never 
encouraging.  She  might  give  way  before  a  large  fortune  like 
my  uncle's,  and  the  prospect  of  reinstating  Edith  at  Wender- 
holme,  but  if  I  were  a  poor  man  in  a  profession  all  her 
aristocratic  prejudices  would  be  active  against  me.  Besides, 
there  are  only  two  professions  which  the  aristocracy  really 
recognizes,  the  army  and  the  church.  The  army  is  not  a 
trade  to  live  by,  and  the  church "  — 

"  Nay,  never  turn  parson,  lad,  never  be  a  parson  !  " 

Young  Jacob  smiled  at  the  Doctor's  sudden  earnestness,  and 
soon  reassured  him,  "  I  have  no  vocation  for  the  church,"  he 
said  quietly  but  decidedly,  "  and  shall  certainly  never  take 
orders."  Then  he  went  on,  half  talking  to  himself  and  half 
addressing  the  Doctor.  "  There  is  no  other  profession  by 
which  an  income  may  be  earned  that  Lady  Helena  would  be 
likely  to  tolerate.  People  like  her  look  down  upon  attorneys 
and  —  and  "  — 

"And  Doctors!"  added  Bardly,  laughing,  "except  when 
they  think  there  's  summat  wrong  i'  their  insides,  and  then 
they  're  as  civil  as  civil," 


Chap.  X.  Youiig  ^acod  and  Edith.  365 

"  I  cannot  see  my  way  at  all,  for  if  I  please  my  uncle  I  am 
not  to  think  of  Edith,  and  if  I  displease  him  I  am  to  have  no 
money,  so  that  it  will  be  no  use  thinking  about  Edith." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  the  young  woman  herself  ?  D'  ye  think 
she  would  have  you  if  you  had  just  a  decent  little  income 
from  a  profession  such  as  doctorin'  ?  It  strikes  me  'at  if 
th'  lass  herself  is  o'  your  side,  who  '11  bring  her  feyther  to  her 
way  o'  thinkin',  an'  her  feyther  '11  find  ways  o'  makin'  his  wife 
listen  to  him." 

Young  Jacob's  eyes  sparkled,  and  his  heart  beat.  "  I 
believe  she  would,  Doctor,  I  do  really  believe  she  would." 

"  Tell  her  then  as  you  '11  be  Shayton  doctor.  It 's  worth 
;^5oo  a-year  to  me ;  and  you  might  increase  it,  an  active 
young  fellow  like  you.  Come  and  learn  doctorin'  wi'  me. 
I  '11  allow  you  ^250  a-year  to  start  wi',  if  you  get  wed  to  Miss 
Stanburne  ;  your  father  will  do  as  much,  —  that  '11  be  ^500  ; 
and  you  may  live  on  that,  if  you  live  quietly.  And  then 
when  there  's  chilther,  there  '11  be  more  brass." 

Young  Jacob's  eyes  moistened.  "  I  'd  take  help  from  you, 
sir,  sooner  than  from  anybody  else,  but  I  cannot  accept  half 
your  income." 

"  Half  my  income,  young  man  !  Do  you  know  who  you 
are  speaking  to .-'  You  're  speaking  to  one  of  the  Shayton 
capitalists,  sir.  I  've  never  been  much  of  a  spender,  and 
have  had  neither  wife  nor  child  to  spend  for  me.  I  can  live 
well  enough  on  the  interest  of  my  railway  shares,  young  gen- 
tleman, and  yet  I  've  other  investments.  I  can  say  like  your 
Uncle  Jacob  that  nobody  knows  what  I  'm  worth.  How  can 
they  know,  if  I  never  told  'em  ? " 

Here  the  Doctor  gave  a  very  knowing  wink  and  a  grin,  and 
shook  young  Jacob  very  heartily  by  the  hand. 


366  Weiiderliolme,  Part  ii. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

EDITH'S    DECISION. 

SUCH  was  young  Jacob's  piety,  that  rather  than  remain 
all  the  Sunday  at  Twistle  Farm  with  that  heterodox 
father  of  his,  he  rode  over  to  Wenderholme  in  order  to 
attend  divine  service  there. 

He  got  to  church  in  very  good  time ;  and  when  he  took  his 
seat  in  Mrs.  Stanburne's  pew,  the  ladies  had  not  yet  arrived. 
Indeed,  even  the  Prigleys  had  not  taken  their  places,  so  that 
young  Jacob  had  something  to  interest  him  in  watching  the 
gradual  arrival  of  the  members  of  the  congregation. 

The  reader  may  remember  that  Mrs.  Stanburne  had  a  small 
pew  of  her  own  appertaining  to  the  Cottage,  whereas  there 
was  a  large  pew  appertaining  to  the  Hall.  Mrs.  Stanburne 
still  remained  faithful  to  her  little  pew,  and  the  great  com- 
fortable enclosure  (a  sort  of  drawing-room  without  ceiling, 
and  with  walls  only  four  feet  high)  had  been  empty  since  the 
departure  of  the  Colonel  and  Lady  Helena. 

The  congregation  gradually  constituted  itself;  the  Prigleys 
soon  filled  the  pew  belonging  to  the  vicarage  ;  the  principal 
farmers  on  the  Wenderholme  estate  penned  themselves  like 
sheep  (Mr.  Prigley's  sheep)  in  their  narrow  wooden  parti- 
tions ;  and  lastly  came  Mrs.  Stanburne  and  Edith.  When 
people  meet  in  a  pew  at  church,  their  greetings  are  consider- 
ably abridged ;  and  if  Edith's  face  was  more  than  usually 
sad,  her  lover  might,  if  he  liked,  attribute  the  expression  to 
religious  seriousness. 

Young  Jacob  kneeled  whilst  Mr.  Prigley  read  the  general 


Chap.  XL  EditJt  s  Decisio7i.  367 

confession,  and  when  he  got  up  again  his  eyes  wandered 
over  the  pews  before  him,  before  they  settled  again  upon  his 
prayer-book. 

He  gave  a  start  of  astonishment.  In  the  great  Wender- 
holme  pew,  quietly  in  one  corner  of  it,  sat  the  present  owner 
of  the  estate  ! 

Young  Jacob's  heart  beat.  He  knew  that  the  plot  was 
thickening,  and  that  a  great  struggle  was  at  hand.  But  he 
was  in  a  better  position  to  meet  his  uncle  to-day  than  he 
had  been  yesterday.  Yesterday  he  had  been  undecided,  and 
though  inwardly  rebellious,  had  had  no  plans  ;  to-day  he  was 
resolved,  and  had  plans.  The  conversation  with  the  Doctor 
had  been  succeeded  by  another  conversation  with  his  father, 
and  the  consequence  was  that  young  Jacob  was  resolved  that, 
rather  than  give  up  Edith,  he  would  go  to  the  length  of  a 
rupture  with  the  authorities  at  Milend. 

Mr.  Prigley  preached  one  of  his  best  sermons  that  day,  but 
neither  of  the  two  Jacob  Ogdens  paid  very  much  attention  to 
it,  I  am  afraid.  They  were  polishing  their  weapons  for  the 
combat.  Each  was  taking  the  gravest  resolutions,  each  was 
resolving  upon  the  sacrifice  of  long-cherished  hopes  ;  for,  not- 
withstanding the  hardness  of  the  manufacturer's  nature,  he 
had  still  rather  tender  feelings  about  "  little  Jacob,"  as  he 
still  habitually  called  him,  and  it  was  painful  to  think  that  a 
youth  in  all  respects  so  perfectly  the  gentleman  should  not 
succeed  to  a  splendid  position  for  which  he  had  been  expressly 
and  elaborately  prepared.  On  the  other  hand,  the  manufac- 
turer could  not  endure  that  anybody  should  thwart  his  will 
and  not  be  sufficiently  punished  for  it ;  and  if  little  Jacob  per- 
sisted in  marrying  in  opposition  to  the  authorities  at  Milend, 
the  only  punishment  adequate  to  an  offence  so  heinous  was 
the  extreme  one  of  disinheritance. 

Both  the  hostile  parties  were  made  aware  that  the  service 
was  at  an  end  by  the  general  movement  of  the  congregation. 
Jacob  Ogden  left  his  pew  before  anybody  else,  and  walked 


368  WeiiderJwlme.  Part  ii 

straight  to  that  of  Mrs.  Stanburne.  He  bowed  slightly  to  the 
ladies,  and  beckoned  to  young  Jacob,  who  came  to  the  pew- 
door.     Then  he  whispered  in  his  ear,  — 

"Come  and  have  your  dinner  with  me  at  Wendrum  'All. 

"  I  cannot,  uncle.     I  've  promised  to  lunch  at  the  Cottage." 

"  You  'd  better  have  your  dinner  with  me.  If  you  stop  at 
the  Cottage,  it  '11  be  worse  for  you  and  it  '11  be  worse 
for  'er." 

"  Do  what  you  like,  sir  ;  my  mind  is  made  up." 

"  Very  well ;  you  '11  rue  it." 

And  the  owner  of  Wenderholme  walked  alone  across  the 
park,  and  dined  alone  in  the  great  dining-room.  During 
dinner  (an  extravagance  very  rare  at  all  times  with  him, 
and  in  solitude  unprecedented),  he  ordered  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne. 

Meanwhile  young  Jacob  lunched  with  the  two  ladies  at  the 
Cottage.  Mrs.  Stanburne  saw  that  there  was  something  wrong, 
some  cause  of  trouble  and  anxiety,  so  she  did  her  best  to 
remove  the  burden  which  seemed  to  oppress  the  minds  of  the 
young  people.  Old  Mrs.  Stanburne  had  great  powers  of  con- 
versation, and  made  young  Jacob  talk.  She  made  him  talk 
about  Oxford,  and  then  she  made  him  talk  about  his  present 
occupations,  and  of  the  transition  from  one  to  the  other. 
Finally  she  asked  him  how  he  liked  the  life  of  a  cotton* 
manufacturer. 

"  Not  much,  Mrs.  Stanburne.  But  it  signifies  very  little 
whether  I  liked  it  or  not,  for  I  have  left  it." 

"  Left  it !  Well,  but  is  not  that  very  imprudent  ?  When 
gentlemen  have  a  great  deal  of  property  in  factories,  they 
ought  to  know  all  about  it,  and  I  have  always  heard  that  the 
only  way  to  do  that  is  to  pass  a  year  or  two  in  the  trade." 

"Very  true.  But  then  I  shall  never  have  any  property 
in  factories,  so  there  is  no  occasion  for  me  to  learn  the 
trade." 

Mrs.  Stanburne  was  much  astonished,  but  her  good-breeding 


Chap.  XI.  EdUIi  s  Decision.  369 

struggled  against  curiosity.  Edith  did  not  seem  to  be  paying 
any  attention  to  what  was  going  forward  ;  she  looked  out  of 
the  window,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  was  mentally  absent. 

"  Edith,"  Mrs.  Stanburne  said  at  last,  "  do  you  hear  what 
Jacob  says  ?  He  says  he  has  left  business.  I  think  it  is  very 
imprudent ;  and  when  I  say  so,  he  tells  me  that  he  will  never 
have  any  factories." 

Edith  lent  the  most  languid  attention  to  her  grandmother's 
piece  of  information.  Her  whole  conduct  was  just  the  reverse 
of  her  usual  way  of  behaving.  Formerly  she  had  taken  the 
liveliest  interest  in  every  thing  that  concerned  her  lover,  so,  to 
make  her  listen,  he  blurted  out  the  truth  suddenly  in  one 
sentence. 

"  My  uncle  has  disinherited  me.  I  am  going  to  be  a  doctor. 
I  am  going  to  learn  the  profession  with  Mr.  Bardly  in 
Shayton." 

Mrs.  Stanburne  was  more  surprised  by  this  news  than  Edith 
was.  "  But  why  1 "  she  asked,  emphatically ;  "zoAy  has  he  dis- 
inherited you?  I  thought  you  were  on  the  best  possible 
terms.  He  spoke  to  you  to-day  as  he  was  going  out  of 
church." 

Young  Jacob  was  silent  for  a  minute.  Mrs.  Stanburne  came 
back  to  the  charge.     "  But  w/iy,  I  say  —  w/ij  ?  " 

"  My  uncle  wants  me  to  marry  a  girl  of  his  own  choosing, 
called  Sally  Smethurst." 

Here  young  Jacob  paused,  then  he  took  courage  and  added, 
—  "  and  I,  Mrs.  Stanburne,  have  ventured  for  some  years  past 
to  indulge  dreams  and  hopes  which  may  never  be  realized. 
You  know  what  my  dreams  have  been.  I  had  hoped  that  per- 
haps my  plain  common  name  might  have  been  forgotten,  and 
that  as  you  and  Colonel  Stanburne  had  always  been  very  kind 
to  me,  and  Miss  Edith  had  never  wounded  me  by  any  haughti- 
ness or  coldness,  I  had  hoped  that  perhaps  some  day  any  diffi- 
culties which  existed  might  be  overcome,  and  that  she  would 
accept  me  with  the  consent  of  her  parents." 

24 


370  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 

Edith  Stanburne  rose  from  her  seat  and  quietly  left  the 
room.  There  was  no  agitation  visible  in  her  face,  but  it  was 
very  pale. 

"  My  dear  Jacob,"  Mrs.  Stanburne  said  decidedly,  "  we  like 
you  very  much  —  we  have  always  liked  you  very  much,  and  you 
have  always  behaved  honorably,  and  as  a  gentleman.  But  I 
am  sure  that  Edith  would  not  sacrifice  your  prospects.  Every 
thing  forbids  it ;  our  esteem  for  yourself  forbids  it,  and  our 
pride  forbids  it.  Besides,  I  have  not  authority  to  allow  you 
two  young  people  to  engage  yourselves  without  the  consent  of 
the  Colonel  and  Lady  Helena." 

"  May  I  not  speak  to  Miss  Stanburne  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  better  that  you  should  not  speak  to  her  in  pri- 
vate, but  you  may  speak  to  her  if  you  like  in  my  presence." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  know  what  she  herself  really  thinks." 

Mrs.  Stanburne  left  the  room,  and  after  ten  minutes  had 
elapsed,  which  seemed  to  young  Jacob  like  a  century,  she 
returned,  accompanied  by  her  grand-daughter. 

Edith  was  still  pale,  but  she  had  a  look  of  great  self- 
possession.  What  was  going  on  in  her  mind  just  then  may 
be  best  expressed  by  the  following  little  soliloquy  :  — 

"  Poor,  dear  Jacob,  how  I  do  love  him  !  What  a  paradise 
it  would  be,  that  simple,  quiet  life  with  him  —  at  Shayton, 
anywhere  in  the  world !  But  I  love  him  too  much  to  ruin 
him,  so  I  must  be  hard  now."     And  then  she  acted  her  part. 

Looking  at  her  lover  coldly,  she  was  the  first  to  speak. 
"  Mr.  Ogden,"  she  said,  "  I  may  sink  a  good  deal  in  your  es- 
teem by  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  you,  but  my  own  future 
must  be  considered  as  well  as  yours.  We  should  be  sorry  to 
sacrifice  your  prospects,  but  I  am  thinking  of  myself  also.  I 
do  not  think  that  I  could  live  contentedly  as  a  surgeon's  wife 
at  Shayton." 

Young  Jacob  was  astounded.  This  from  Edith!  The  very 
last  thing  he  had  ever  anticipated  was  an  objection  of  the 
selfish  kind  from  her.     He  had  counted  upon  all  obstacles 


Chap.  XI.  EditJis  Decisio7i.  371 

but  this  ;  and  all  other  obstacles  were  surmountable,  but  this 
was  insurmountable.  He  saw  at  once  that  it  would  be  mad- 
ness to  marry  a  young  lady  who  despised  his  life,  and  the 
labors  which  he  went  through  for  her  sake. 

If  he  could  only  have  known  !  She,  poor  thing,  was  new 
in  this  game  of  cruelty  with  a  kind  intention,  and  she  played 
it  with  even  more  than  necessary  hardness.  Perhaps  she  felt 
that  without  this  overstrung  hardness  she  could  not  deceive 
him  at  all  ;  that  the  least  approach  to  tenderness  would  be 
fatal  to  her  purpose.  She  had  imagination  enough  to  con- 
ceive and  act  a  part  utterly  foreign  to  her  character,  but  not 
miagination  enough  to  act  a  part  only  just  sufficiently  foreign 
to  herself  to  serve  her  immediate  end.  So  there  was  a  harsh 
excess  in  what  she  did. 

"  Miss  Stanburne,"  he  said  at  last,  "  this  gives  me  great 
pain." 

The  poor  girl  writhed  inwardly,  but  she  maintained  a  serene 
countenance,  and,  looking  young  Jacob  full  in  the  face,  said, 
with  a  well-imitated  sneer,  — 

"I  may  say  with  truth  that  it  has  latterly  been  agreeable  to 
me  to  think  that  the  daughter  of  Colonel  Stanburne  would 
one  day  live  at  Wenderholme.  —  But  I  confess  I  have  not  the 
sort  of  heroism  which  would  consent  to  be  a  surgeon's  wife 
in  such  a  place  as  Shayton." 

"  If  these  are  your  reasons.  Miss  Stanburne,  I  have  done. 
A  man  would  be  a  fool  to  sacrifice  his  prospects,  and  slave  at 
a  profession  all  his  life,  for  a  woman  who  paid  him  with  con- 
tempt. And  I  think  I  may  say  that  you  dismiss  me  with  un- 
common coolness.  I  've  loved  you  these  twelve  years  — 
I  've  loved  you  ever  since  I  was  a  child.  I  never  loved  any 
other  woman  \  and  the  reward  of  this  devotion  is,  that  I  am 
sent  away  when  my  prospects  are  clouded,  without  a  sign  of 
emotion  or  a  syllable  to  express  regret.  I  think  you  might 
say  you  are  sorry,  at  any  rate." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  say  that.     I  am  sorry." 


372  IVender holme.  Part  ii. 

By  a  supreme  effort  of  acting,  Edith  put  an  expression  into 
her  face  which  conveyed  the  idea  that  she  considered  emotion 
ridiculous,  and  young  Jacob's  own  conduct  as  verging  sHghtly 
upon  the  absurd.     This  stung  him  to  the  quick. 

"  Miss  Stanburne,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  this  conversa- 
tion is  leading  to  no  good.     It  is  useless  to  prolong  it." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you."  • 

And  he  was  gone. 

If  he  could  have  seen  what  passed  after  his  departure,  he 
would  have  gone  back  to  Shayton  in  a  very  different  frame  of 
mind.  Edith  had  acted  her  part  and  held  out  bravely  to  the 
last,  but  when  Jacob  was  once  fairly  out  of  the  house,  the 
faithful  heart  could  endure  its  self-inflicted  torture  no  longer, 
and  she  ran  upstairs  to  her  bed-room  and  locked  the  door, 
and  burst  into  bitter  tears.  "  How  good  and  brave  he  is,  and 
how  he  loves  me  !  It  is  hard,  it  is  very  hard,  to  have  to  throw 
away  a  heart  like  his.  But  I  will  not  be  his  ruin  —  I  never 
will  be  his  ruin  !  "  Then  a  thousand  tender  recollections 
came  into  her  memory  —  recollections  of  the  long  years  of 
his  faithful  love  and  service.  It  had  begun  in  their  child- 
hood, when  first  she  called  him  "  Charley,"  giving  him  one  of 
her  own  names ;  it  had  continued  year  after  year  until  this 
very  day,  when  he  would  have  sacrificed  all  for  her,  and  she 
had  treated  him  with  coldness  and  cruelty  —  she  who  so  loved 
him  !  And  to  think  that  he  would  never  know  the  truth  — 
that  the  long  dreary  future  would  wear  itself  gradually  out 
until  both  of  them  were  in  their  graves,  and  that  he  would 
never  know  how  her  heart  yearned  to  him,  and  remained 
faithful  to  him  always  !  That  thought  was  the  hardest  and 
bitterest  of  them  all,  that  he  would  never  know ;  that  all  his 
life  he  would  retain  that  misconception  about  her  which  she 
herself  had  so  carefully  created  !  It  is  easy  to  bear  the  bad 
opinion  of  people  we  care  nothing  about,  but  when  those  we 
most  love  disapprove,  how  eagerly  we  desire  their  absolution ! 

Edith  was  not  quite  so  strong  as  she  herself  believed.     The 


Chap.  XI.  Editlis  Decision.  373 

late  events  had  tried  her  courage  to  the  utmost,  and  out- 
wardly she  seemed  to  have  borne  them  well ;  but  they  had 
strained  her  nervous  system  a  good  deal,  and  this  last  trial  of 
her  fortitude  had  been  too  much,  even  for  her.  Her  agony 
rapidly  passed  from  mental  grief  into  an  uncontrollable  crisis 
of  the  nerves.  She  went  through  this  alone,  lying  upon  her 
bed,  sobbing  and  moaning,  her  face  on  the  pillow,  her  hands 
convulsively  agitated.  Then  came  utter  vacancy,  and  after 
the  vacancy  a  slow,  painful  awakening  to  the  new  sadness  of 
her  life. 


174  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

JACOB   OGDEN'S    TRIUMPH. 

AT  length  the  great  day  arrived,  towards  the  end  of  Octo- 
ber, when  the  new  road  from  Shayton  to  Wenderholme 
•was  to  be  solemnly  inaugurated. 

Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  had  made  all  his  arrangements  with  that 
administrative  ability  which  distinguished  him.  He  had  gone 
into  every  detail  just  as  closely  as  if  the  work  of  this  great 
day  had  been  the  earning  of  money  instead  of  its  expendi- 
ture. The  main  features  of  the  programme  were :  i.  A  pro- 
cession from  Shayton  to  Wenderholme  by  the  new  route.  2. 
A  grand  dinner  at  Wenderholme.     3.  A  ball. 

The  procession  was  to  leave  Shayton  at  noon  precisely  ; 
and  about  half-past  eleven,  a  magnificent  new  carriage,  orna- 
mented with  massive  silver,  and  drawn  by  two  superb  gray 
horses,  whose  new  harness  glittered  in  the  sunshine,  rolled 
up  to  Mrs.  Ogden's  door.  On  the  box  sat  a  fine  coachman  in 
livery,  and  a  footman  jumped  down  from  behind  to  knock  at 
the  Milend  front  door. 

Just  at  the  same  moment  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  walked  quietly 
up  the  drive,  and  when  the  door  opened  he  walked  in.  The 
splendid  servants  respectfully  saluted  him. 

The  Shayton  tailor  had  surpassed  himself  for  this  occasion, 
and  Mr.  Jacob  looked  so  well  dressed  that  anybody  would 
have  thought  his  clothes  had  been  made  at  Sootythorn.  He 
wore  kid  gloves  also. 

But  however  well  dressed  a  man  may  be,  his  splendor  can 
never  be  comparable  to  a  lady's,   especially  such  a  lady  as 


Chap.  XII.  Jacob  Ogdeu  s  Triu77tpk.  375 

Mrs  Ogden,  who  had  a  fearlessness  in  the  use  of  colors  like 
that  which  distinguished  our  younger  painters  twenty  }ears 
ago.  She  always  managed  to  adorn  herself  so  that  every 
thing  about  her  looked  bright,  except  her  complexion  and  her 
eyes.  Behold  her  as  the  door  opens  !  The  Queen  in  all  her 
glory  is  not  so  fine  as  the  mistress  of  Milend  !  What  shining 
splendor !  What  dazzling  effulgence !  A  blind  man  said 
that  he  imagined  scarlet  to  be  as  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  ; 
but  the  vision  of  Mrs.  Ogden  was  equal  to  a  whole  brass  band. 

"  Why,  and  whose  cayridge  is  this  'ere,  Jacob  ? " 

"  Cayridge,  mother  ?  It 's  nobbut  a  two-horse  fly,  fro'  Man- 
chester, new  painted." 

The  fact  was,  it  was  Mrs.  Ogden's  own  carriage,  purchased 
by  her  son  without  her  knowledge  or  consent ;  but,  to  avoid  a 
scene  before  his  new  domestics,  he  preferred  the  above  amia- 
ble little  fiction.  So  Mrs.  Ogden  stepped  for  the  first  time 
into  her  carriage  without  being  aware  that  she  had  attained 
that  great  object  of  the  nouveau  riche.  There  was  no  danger 
that  she  would  recognize  the  armorial  bearings  which  deco- 
rated the  panels  and  the  harness.  Jacob  himself  had  not 
known  them  a  month  before,  but  he  had  sent  "  name  and 
county"  to  a  heraldic  establishment  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields; 
and,  as  his  letter  had  been  duly  accompanied  by  a  post-office 
order,  three  days  afterwards  he  had  received  a  very  neat 
drawing  of  his  coat  of  arms,  emblazoned  in  azure  and  gold. 
It  was  cheaper  than  going  to  the  College  of  Arms,  and  did 
just  as  well. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  new  carriage  except  Mrs.  Ogden 
and  her  son.  Miss  Smethurst  was  invited,  but  she  had  a  car- 
riage and  pair  of  her  own,  which  she  used  to  do  honor  to  the 
occasion.  Many  other  friends  of  the  Ogdens  (friends  or 
business  acquaintances)  also  came  in  their  carriages,  for  the 
tradesmen  of  those  parts  had  generally  adopted  the  custom  of 
carriage-keeping  during  the  last  few  years.  Even  our  friend 
the  Doctor  now  kept  a  comfortable  brougham,  in  which  he 


^^^6  WenderJwlme.  part  ii. 

joined  the  procession.  Mr.  Isaac  Ogden  of  Twistle  Farm, 
and  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden,  Jr.,  his  son,  joined  the  procession  on 
horseback,  riding  very  fine  animals  indeed.  A  pack  of  har- 
riers was  kept  a  short  distance  from  Shayton,  and  it  had  been 
agreed  that  all  the  gentlemen  of  the  hunt  who  had  invitations 
should  be  asked  to  come  as  equestrians. 

Jacob  Ogden  had  contrived  to  give  a  public  character  to 
his  triumph  by  his  gift  of  the  new  road  to  the  township.  The 
magistrates  for  the  time  being  were  to  be  the  trustees  of  it, 
hence  the  magistrates  (including  one  or  two  country  gentle- 
men of  some  standing)  found  themselves  compelled  to  take 
part  in  the  triumph.  All  men  were  that  day  compelled  to  ac- 
knowledge Jacob  Ogden's  greatness,  and  to  do  him  homage. 

The  telegraph  was  already  established,  and  when  the 
Shayton  procession  started  on  its  way,  the  fact  was  known 
instantaneously  at  Wenderholme.  At  the  same  moment  a 
counter-procession  left  Wenderholme  on  horseback  to  meet 
the  one  coming  from  Shayton.  The  Yorkshire  procession 
consisted  chiefly  of  the  tenants  of  the  estate  on  horseback, 
headed  by  the  agent.  Most  of  them  were  in  any  thing  but  a 
congratulatory  frame  of  mind,  but  as  they  dreaded  the  anger 
of  their  landlord,  they  rode  forth  to  meet  him  to  a  man. 

A  holiday  had  been  given  at  the  mill,  and  all  the  mill  hands 
were  to  accompany  the  Shayton  procession  for  two  miles  upon 
the  road,  after  which  they  were  to  return  to  Shayton,  and 
there  make  merry  at  Mr.  Ogden's  expense.  Most  of  the 
hands  belonged  to  benefit  clubs  such  as  the  Odd  Fellows,  the 
Druids,  the  Robin  Hood,  and  so  on ;  and  they  borrowed  for 
the  occasion  the  banners  used  in  the  solemnities  of  these  so- 
cieties, and  their  picturesque  and  fanciful  costumes.  These 
added  immensely  to  the  effect,  and  gave  the  procession  a 
richness  and  a  variety  which  it  would  otherwise  have  lacked. 

The  departure  of  the  cortege  had  been  timed  at  the  dinner- 
hour,  when  all  the  mills  were  loosed,  so  that  the  whole  Shay- 
ton i)opulation  might  witness  it.     As  it  moved  slowly  along 


Chap.  XII.  Jacob  Ogdcns  Triumph.  2)11 

the  streets,  the  crowd  was  as  dense  as  if  Royalty  itself  had 
made  a  progress  through  the  town.  Mrs.  Ogden  repeatedly 
recognized  acquaintances  in  the  crowd,  and  bowed  and  smiled 
most  graciously  from  her  carriage-window  —  indeed  a  queen 
could  hardly  have  looked  more  radiant  or  more  gracious. 
Seeing  her  good-humor,  Jacob  ventured  to  inform  her  that  she 
was  "sitting  in  her  own  carriage." 

"  Sitting  in  my  own  cayridge  !  Well,  then,  stop  th'  horses, 
for  I  s'll  get  out." 

"  Nay,  nay,  mother,  you  munnut  do  so  —  you  munnut  do  so. 
You  '11  stop  o'  th'  procession.  There  's  no  stoppin'  now.  It 's 
too  latt  for  stoppin'." 

"  Well,  if  I  'd  known  I  'd  never  a  coom  !  What  is  th'  folk 
sayin',  thinken  ye  ?  Why,  they  *re  o'  sayin,'  one  to  another, 
'  There 's  Mistress  Ogden  in  her  new  cayridge,  an'  who  's  as 
fain  *  as  fain.'  " 

"  Well,  mother,  and  what  if  they  do  say  so  ?  What  means  it  ? " 

"  Draw  them  there  blinds  down." 

"  Nay,  but  I  willn't.     We  aren't  goin'  to  a  funeral." 

After  a  while  Mrs.  Ogden  began  to  look  at  the  nice  blue 
lining  of  her  carriage  somewhat  more  approvingly.  At  last 
she  said,  "  Jacob,  I  'n  never  thanked  thee.  Thank  ye,  Jacob 
—  thank  ye.  I  shalln't  live  to  use  it  for  long,  but  it  '11  do  for 
little  Jacob  wife  at  afther." 

When  Mrs.  Ogden  had  made  this  little  speech,  her  son 
knew  that  the  carriage  difficulty  was  at  an  end,  and  indeed 
she  never  afterwards  evinced  any  repugnance  to  entering  that 
very  handsome  and  comfortable  vehicle. 

The  procession  moved  at  a  walking  pace  for  the  first  two 
miles,  on  account  of  the  people  on  foot.  When  these,  how- 
ever, had  returned  in  the  direction  of  Shayton,  the  speed  was 
somewhat  increased,  though,  as  the  road  steadily  ascended 
till  it  reached  the  Yorkshire  border,  the  horses  could  not  go 

*  Fain  is  a  combination  of  happy  and  proud.  It  answers  very  near'.y 
to  a  certain  sense  of  the  French  word  "content." 


378  WcnderJwlme,  Part  11. 

very  fast.  The  road,  too,  being  quite  new,  the  macadam  was 
rather  rough,  though  Jacob  Ogden  had  sent  a  heavy  iron 
roller,  drawn  by  fourteen  powerful  horses,  from  one  end  to 
the  other. 

The  weather  could  not  possibly  have  been  more  favorable, 
and  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  cheerful  and  ex- 
hilarating route.  There  had  been  a  slight  frost  during  the 
night,  and  the  air  of  the  high  moorland  was  deliciously  fresh 
and  pure.  The  startled  grouse  frequently  whirred  over  the 
heads  of  the  horsemen,  and  made  not  a  few  of  them  regret 
the  absence  of  their  fowling-pieces,  and  the  present  necessity 
for  marching  in  military  order.  The  view  became  gradually 
more  and  more  extensive,  till  at  length,  on  approaching  the 
border,  a  splendid  prospect  was  visible  on  both  sides,  stretch- 
ing in  Lancashire  far  beyond  Shayton  to  the  level  land  near 
Manchester  —  and  in  Yorkshire,  beyond  Wenderholme  and 
Riston  to  the  hills  near  Stanithburn  Peel.  A  landmark  had 
been  erected  on  the  border,  and  as  the  Shayton  procession 
approached  it,  the  body  of  horsemen  from  Wenderholme  were 
seen  approaching  it  from  the  other  side.  It  had  been  ar- 
ranged that  they  should  meet  at  the  stone. 

When  both  processions  had  stopped,  the  Wenderholme 
agent  came  and  presented  an  address  to  Mrs.  Ogden,  which 
he  read  in  a  loud  voice,  and  then  handed  to  her  in  the  car- 
riage. She  was  graciously  pleased  to  say  a  few  words  in 
reply,  which  were  not  audible  to  the  people  about.  This 
ceremony  being  over,  the  combined  procession  formed  itse'f 
in  order  of  march,  and  began  to  descend  the  long  slope 
towards  Wenderholme. 

The  road  entered  the  village,  and  therefore  did  not  go  quite 
directly  to  the  Hall.  As  it  had  been  Jacob  Ogden's  intention 
from  the  first  to  play  the  part  of  Public  Benefactor  in  this 
matter,  he  guarded  the  privacy  of  his  mansion. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  village  there  was  a  triumphal  arch 
made  of  heather  and  evergreens,  niul  decorated  with  festoons 


Chap.  XII.  Jacob  Ogdens  Trhiniph,  379 

of  colored  calico.  Here  the  procession  paused  a  second  time, 
whilst  the  villagers  came  to  make  their  little  offering  to  Mrs. 
Ogden. 

The  lord  of  Wenderholme  was  both  surprised  and  offended 
by  the  absence  of  Mr.  Prigley.  "  I  '11  make  him  pay  for 't,"  he 
thought,  "if  he  wants  out*  doin'  at  his  church,  or  any  sub- 
scriptions, or  the  like  o'  that."  Indeed,  the  absence  of  Mr. 
Prigley  was  the  more  surprising  that  it  was  contrary  to  the 
traditions  of  his  caste,  usually  sufficiently  ready  to  do  honor 
to  the  powers  that  be. 

Also,  Jacob  Ogden  thought  that  the  church  bells  might  ha  /e 
rung  for  him.  But  they  didn't  ring.  A  hostile  Prigley  or 
Stanburne  influence  was  apparent  there  also.  It  was  irritating 
to  have  the  great  triumph  marred  by  this  pitiful  ecclesiastical 
opposition.  "He  shall  rue  it,"  said  Jacob,  inwardly  —  "he 
shall  rue  it !  " 

A  table  had  been  set  in  the  middle  of  Wenderholme  green, 
and  on  this  table  was  a  large  and  massive  silver  inkstand,  and 
in  the  inkstand  a  gold  pen  with  a  jewelled  penholder.  Here 
Jacob  Ogden  descended  from  his  carriage,  and,  surrounded  by 
all  the  chief  personages  in  the  procession,  sat  down  under  a 
spreading  oak,  and  signed  the  deed  of  gift  by  which  the  road 
from  Shayton  to  Wenderholme  was  transferred  in  trust  to  the 
Shayton  magistrates  and  their  successors  for  ever  and  ever. 

The  inkstand  bore  an  inscription,  and  was  formally  pre- 
sented to  Mr.  Ogden.  And  a  great  shout  rose  —  all  John 
Stanbume's  former  tenants  distinguishing  themselves  in  the 
"  hip,  hip,"  &c. 

After  that  the  procession  entered  Wenderholme  Park,  and 
Mrs.  Ogden  descended  at  the  grand  entrance,  and  moved 
across  the  hall,  and  up  the  tapestried  staircase. 

*  Any  thing. 


380  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE  "BLOW-OUT." 

THE  reader  is  not  to  suppose,  from  the  parsimony  which 
marked  the  habitual  life  of  Jacob  Ogden  and  his  mother, 
that  when  they  had  made  up  their  minds  to  what  they  called 
a  "  blow-out,"  there  would  be  any  meanness  or  littleness  in 
their  proceedings.  Under  all  circumstances  they  acted  with 
clear  minds,  knowing  what  they  were  doing ;  and  when  they 
resolved  to  be  extravagant,  they  were  extravagant.  The  fine 
principle  of  that  grand  and  really  moral  motto,  "  Pecca  for- 
titer"  was  thoroughly  understood  and  consistently  acted  upon 
by  the  man  who  had  won  Wenderholme  by  his  industry  and 
thrift.  When  he  sinned,  there  was  no  weak  compromise  with 
conscience  —  he  did  it  manfully  and  boldly,  and  no  mistake. 
He  never  "  muddled  away  "  a  sovereign,  but  his  triumph  cost 
him  many  a  hundred  sovereigns,  and  he  knew  beforehand 
precisely  what  he  was  going  to  spend.  When  it  was  all  over 
he  would  pay  the  piper,  and  lock  up  his  cash-box  again,  and 
return  to  his  old  careful  ways. 

The  Ogdens  did  not  receive  many  visitors  at  Milend,  and 
yet  they  had  rather  an  extensive  acquaintance  amongst  people 
of  their  own  class  —  rich  people  belonging  to  trade,  and  living 
in  the  great  manufacturing  towns.  And  to  this  festivity  they 
had  invited  everybody  they  knew.  The  house  of  Wender- 
holme, large  as  it  was,  was  filled  with  Jacob  Ogden's  guests, 
and  his  mother  did  the  honors  with  a  homely  but  genuine  hos- 
pitality, which  made  everybody  feel  kindly  disposed  to  her  j 
and  though  they  could  noi  help  laughing  a  little  at  her  now 


Chap.  XIII.  The  BloW-Out.  38 1 

and  then,  they  did  it  without  malice.  The  reader  will  remem- 
ber that,  from  a  sort  of  pride  which  distinguished  her,  she  had 
refrained  from  visiting  Wenderholme  until  the  completion  of 
the  new  road  ;  and  as  the  chariot  of  the  Olympic  victor  entered 
his  city  by  a  breach  in  the  wall,  so  Mrs.  Ogden's  carriage 
came  to  Wenderholme  by  a  route  which  no  carriage  had  ever 
before  traversed.  It  would  have  been  better,  however,  in  some 
respects,  if  the  good  lady  had  familiarized  herself  a  little  with 
the  splendors  of  Wenderholme  before  she  undertook  to  receive 
so  many  guests  therein,  for  it  was  quite  foreign  to  the  frank- 
ness of  her  nature  to  act  the  nil  admirari.  Thus,  on  entering 
the  magnificent  drawing-room,  where  many  guests  were  already 
assembled,  she  behaved  exactly  as  she  had  done  when,  during 
a  visit  to  Buxton,  some  friends  had  taken  her  to  see  Chats- 
worth. 

"Well!"  she  exclaimed,  lifting  up  both  her  hands,  "this 
is  a  grand  room  !  "  Nor  was  she  contented  with  this  simple 
exclamation,  but  she  went  on  examining  and  exclaiming,  and 
walked  all  round,  and  lifted  up  the  curtains,  and  the  heavy 
tassels  of  their  cords,  and  touched  the  tapestry  on  the  chairs, 
and,  in  a  word,  quite  forgot  her  dignity  of  hostess  in  the 
novelty  of  the  things  about  her. 

"Those  curtains  must  have  cost  thirty  shillings  a-yard ! " 
she  said,  appealing  to  the  judgment  of  the  elder  ladies  present, 
"  and  the  stuff  's  narrow  beside." 

Impressions  of  splendor  depend  very  much  upon  contrast, 
so  that  Wenderholme  seemed  very  astonishing  to  a  person 
coming  directly  from  Milend.  But  such  impressions  are  soon 
obliterated  by  habit,  and  in  a  week  Mrs.  Ogden  will  have  lost 
the  "fresh  eye,"  to  which  she  owes  her  present  sense  of  en- 
chantment. How  long  would  it  take  to  get  accustomed  to 
Blenheim,  or  Castle  Howard,  or  Compi^gne  ?  Would  it  take 
a  fortnight?  However,  Mrs.  Ogden  had  the  advantage  of  a 
far  fresher  eye  than  nous  autres,  who  are  so  accustomed  to 
gilding  and  glitter  in  public  cafes  and  picture-galleries,  that 


382  Weiider holme.  Part  ii. 

we  are  all,  as  it  were,  princes,  insensible  to  impressions  of 
splendor. 

All  that  Mrs.  Ogden  said  upon  that  memorable  day  it  would 
be  tedious  to  relate.  She  thought  aloud,  and  the  burden  of 
her  thoughts,  their  ever-recurring  refrain,  was  her  sense  of  the 
grandeur  that  surrounded  her.  Jacob  Ogden  had  bought  a 
good  deal  of  Colonel  Stanburne's  fine  old  silver  plate,  and 
this  formed  the  main  subject  of  Mrs.  Ogden's  conversation 
during  dinner.  "  I  think  our  Jacob  's  gone  fair  mad  with 
pride,"  she  said  to  all  the  company,  and  in  the  hearing  of  the 
attentive  servants,  "for  we'd  plenty  of  silver  at  Milend  — 
quite  plenty  for  any  one ;  we  've  all  my  uncle  Adam's  silver 
spoons,  and  my  aunt  Alice's,  and  plenty  of  silver  candlesticks, 
and  a  tea-service — and  I  cannot  tell  what  our  Jacob  would  be 
at."  Then  she  added,  with  serene  complacency,  "  However, 
it's  all  paid  for." 

She  had  not  the  art  of  avoiding  a  topic  likely  to  be  disa- 
greeable either  to  herself  or  anybody  else,  but  would  make 
other  folks  uncomfortable,  and  torture  her  own  mind  by 
dwelling  upon  their  sores  and  her  own.  I  don't  think  that 
in  this  she  was  altogether  wrong,  or  that  the  most  delicate 
people  are  altogether  right  in  doing  exactly  the  contrary,  for 
it  is  as  well  to  grasp  nettles  with  a  certain  hardihood  ;  but 
she  carried  a  respectable  sort  of  courage  to  a  very  unneces- 
sary excess.  Thus,  when  she  had  done  about  the  silver  and 
the  general  extravagance  of  "our  Jacob,"  the  next  topic  she 
found  to  talk  about  was  the  absence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prigley. 
She  launched  forth  into  a  catalogue  of  all  the  benefits  where- 
with she  had  overwhelmed  Mrs.  Prigley  in  the  days  of  her 
poverty  at  Shayton,  and  represented  that  lady  as  a  monster 
of  ingratitude.  "  Why,  they  were  so  poor,"  Mrs.  Ogden  said, 
"  that  they  couldn't  even  afford  carpets  to  their  floors  ;  but 
now  that  they're  better  off  in  the  world,  they  turn  their  backs 
on  those  that  helped  them.  We  were  always  helping  them, 
and  making  them  presents."    Every  one  saw  that  the  Ogdens 


Chap.  XIII.  The  BloW-Out.  383 

were  dreadfully  sore  about  the  absence  of  the  vicar  and  his 
wife,  and  it  was  not  very  good  policy  on  Mrs.  Ogden's  part  to 
draw  attention  to  it  in  that  way ;  for  a  parson,  though  orna- 
mental, is  not  absolutely  indispensable  to  a  good  dinner,  and 
they  might  have  got  on  very  well  without  one. 

The  dinner  was  served  in  the  great  hall  at  five  o'clock,  and 
few  of  the  guests,  as  they  sat  at  the  feast,  could  help  lifting 
their  eyes  to  the  wainscot,  and  the  frescoes,  and  the  great 
aimorial  ceiling  —  few  could  help  thinking  of  the  Colonel. 
No  one  present,  however,  was  in  such  a  conflicting  and  con- 
tradictory state  of  mind  as  young  Jacob,  nor  was  any  one  so 
thoroughly  miserable.  The  whole  triumph  had  disgusted  him 
from  beginning  to  end,  and  he  was  not  in  a  humor  to  be 
either  charitable  or  indulgent,  or  to  see  things  on  their  amus- 
ing side.  Ever  since  that  last  interview  with  Edith,  he  had 
been  moody  and  misanthropical,  accepting  the  position  his 
uncle  had  made  for  him,  but  accepting  it  without  one  ray  of 
pleasure.  Such  a  condition  of  mind,  if  prolonged  for  several 
years,  would  end  by  making  a  man  horribly  cynical  and  sour, 
and  probably  drive  him  to  take  refuge  in  the  lowest  pleasures 
and  the  lowest  aims.  When  the  bark  of  love  is  wrecked, 
and  the  noble  ambition  of  work  and  independence  lies  feeble 
and  half  dead,  and  we  allow  others  to  arrange  all  our  life 
for  us,  what  is  the  use  of  being  young?  what  is  the  use  of 
having  health  and  riches,  and  all  sorts  of  fine  prospects  and 
advantages  ? 

When  the  banquet  was  over,  the  company  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  young  Jacob  began  to  think  that  Sally 
Smethurst  was  the  nicest-looking  young  person  there.  His 
uncle  was  pleased  to  observe  his  polite  attentions  to  the 
young  lady,  and,  taking  him  aside,  said,  "  That 's  reet,  lad  — 
that 's  reet ;  ax  'er  to  dance,  and  when  you  've  been  dancin' 
a  good  bit,  ax  her  summat  elz.  You'll  never  have  such 
another  chance.  She  's  quite  fresh  to  this  place,  and  she 
never  saw  out  like  Wendrum  'All ;  she  's  just  been  tellin'  my 
mother  what  a  rare  fiiic  jilnce  it  is." 


384  Wender holme.  Part  11. 

"  Well,"  thought  young  Jacob  to  himself,  "  as  I  cannot  have 
Edith,  why  not  please  my  uncle  and  my  grandmother  ?  Sally 
Smethurst  is  a  nice  honest-looking  young  woman,  and  I  dare- 
say she  'd  make  a  very  good  sort  of  wife."  The  male  nature 
is  so  constituted  that,  when  not  firmly  anchored  in  some 
strong  attachment,  it  easily  drifts  away  on  the  fleuve  du  tendre, 
and  this  poor  youth  had  been  cut  away  from  his  moorings. 
What  wonder,  then,  if  he  drifted  ? 

Sally  thought  him  very  nice,  and  handsome,  and  kind,  and 
she  promised  to  dance  with  him  most  willingly.  The  dining- 
room  had  been  prepared  for  dancing,  and  it  answered  the 
purpose  all  the  better  as  there  was  a  dais  at  one  end  of  the 
room  which  afforded  at  once  a  safe  retreat  and  a. convenient 
position  for  spectators,  whilst  at  the  other  was  a  gallery  for 
musicians,  now  occupied  by  an  excellent  band  of  stringed 
instruments  from  Manchester.  In  short,  the  dining-room  at 
Wenderholme  had  been  arranged  strictly  on  the  principle  of 
the  old  baronial  hall.  The  gallery  was  supported  by  fantastic 
pillars  of  carved  oak,  and  decorated  with  gigantic  antlers 
which  had  been  given  to  Colonel  Stanburne  by  a  friend  of 
his,  a  mighty  hunter  in  South  Africa. 

The  ball  went  on  with  great  spirit  till  after  midnight,  when 
supper  was  served  in  the  long  gallery.  Even  Mrs.  Ogden, 
old  as  she  was,  had  danced,  and  danced  well  too,  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  spectators.  The  host  himself  had  per- 
formed, though  his  proficiency  might  be  questioned. 

What  with  the  dancing,  and  the  negus,  and  the  champagne, 
and  the  splendors  of  the  noble  house,  and  the  flattery  of  so 
many  guests,  and  the  obsequious  service  of  so  many  at- 
tendants, and  the  sense  of  their  own  greatness  and  success, 
not  only  Jacob  Ogden,  senior,  but  all  the  Ogdens,  were  a 
little  elevated  that  night.  Young  Jacob  did  not  escape  this 
infection  —  at  his  age,  how  could  he.-'  —  and  having  taken 
Miss  Smethurst  up  the  grand  staircase  to  supper,  rapidly 
approached  that  point  which  his  uncle  desired  him  to  attain. 


Chap.  XIII.  The  BloW-Out.  385 

Amidst  the  noise  of  the  talk  around  him,  the  lad  went 
further  and  further.  He  talked  about  Wenderholme  already 
almost  as  if  it  were  his  own,  and  forgot,  for  the  time,  his  old 
friend  the  Colonel  and  his  misfortunes  in  an  exulting  sense 
of  his  own  highly  promising  position.  "  He  intended  to 
live  at  Wenderholme  a  good  deal,"  he  said,  and  then  asked 
Miss  Smethurst  whether  she  would  like  to  live  at  Wender- 
holme. 

But  he  did  not  hear  her  answer.  A  figure  like  a  ghost, 
with  pale,  sad,  resolute  face,  approached  silently,  moving  from 
the  darker  end  of  the  long  gallery  into  the  blaze  of  light 
about  the  supper-table. 

It  was  Mr.  Prigley. 

The  master  of  the  house  saw  him,  too,  and  as  he  approached 
said  aloud,  and  not  very  politely,  — 

"  Better  late  than  never,  parson  ;  come  and  sit  down  next 
to  my  mother  and  get  your  supper." 

But  Mr.  Prigley  still  remained  standing.  However,  he 
approached  the  table.     Still  he  would  not  sit  down. 

Every  one  looked  at  him,  and  no  one  who  had  looked  once 
took  his  eyes  off  Mr.  Prigley  again.  There  was  that  in  his 
face  which  fixed  attention  irresistibly.  The  roar  of  the  con- 
versation was  suddenly  hushed,  and  a  silence  succeeded  in 
which  you  might  have  heard  the  breaking  of  a  piece  of  bread. 

Mr.  Prigley  went  straight  to  Mrs.  Ogden,  not  noticing  any- 
body else.  He  spoke  to  her,  not  loudly,  but  audibly  enough 
for  every  one  to  hear  him. 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Ogden,  that  Mrs.  Stanburne, 
mother  of  Colonel  Stanburne  of  Wenderholme,  is  now  lying 
in  a  dying  state  at  the  vicarage." 

Mrs.  Ogden  did  not  answer  at  once.  When  she  had  col- 
lected her  ideas,  she  said,  "  I  thought  Mrs.  Stanburne  had 
been  in  her  own  house  and  well  in  health.  If  I  'd  known  she 
was  dyin',  you  may  be  sure,  Mr.  Prigley,  as  there  should  'ave 
been  no  dancin'  i'  this  house,  though  she  's  not  a  relation  of 


o 


86  Weuderhohne.  part  ii. 


ours.     We  're  only  plain  people,  but  we  know  what 's  fittin' 
and  seemly." 

"Then  you  cannot  be  aware,  Mrs.  Ogden,  of  what  has 
happened  at  Wenderholme  Cottage.  Mrs.  Stanburne's  ill- 
ness has  been  brought  on  by  the  suddenness  with  which  the 
present  owner  of  Wenderholme  ordered  her  to  quit  her  cot- 
tage on  this  estate.  She  was  an  old  lady,  in  feeble  health, 
and  the  trouble  of  a  sudden  eviction  has  proved  too  much 
for  her.     If  there  is  any  surgeon  here,  let  him  follow  me." 

This  said,  Mr.  Prigley  quitted  the  table  without  bowing  to 
anybody,  and  his  gaunt  figure  and  pale  grave  face  passed 
along  the  gallery  to  the  great  staircase.  Dr.  Bardly  left  his 
place  at  the  supper-table,  and  followed  him. 

Miss  Smelhurst's  young  partner  made  no  more  soft  speeches 
to  her  that  night.  A  great  pang  smote  him  in  his  breast. 
Had  he  forgotten  those  dear  friends  who  had  been  so  good 
to  him  in  the  time  of  their  prosperity  ?  And  what  was  this 
horrible  story  of  an  eviction?  Mrs.  Stanburne  turned  out 
of  Wenderholme  Cottage !  Could  it  be  possible  that  his 
uncle  had  gone  to  such  a  length  as  that .'' 

The  boy  was  down  the  staircase  in  an  instant,  and  over- 
took the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Prigley  as  they  were  crossing  the 
great  hall.     They  walked  swiftly  and  silently  to  the  vicarage. 

"  You  'd  better  wait  here,  little  Jacob,"  said  Dr.  Bardly ; 
"  I  '11  go  upstairs."  And  he  put  Jacob  into  a  small  sitting- 
room,  which  was  empty. 

The  lad  had  been  there  five  minutes  when  the  door  opened, 
and  Edith  came  in.     She  looked  very  ill  and  miserable. 

All  the  old  tenderness  came  back  into  Jacob's  heart  as  he 
felt  for  her  in  this  trial.  "  Miss  Stanburne,"  he  said,  "  dear 
Miss  Stanburne,  what  does  he  say  ?  "  Weak  and  shattered  as 
she  was  by  the  trials  of  these  last  days,  that  word  of  tender- 
ness made  any  farther  acting  impossible.  She  went  to  him, 
took  both  his  hands  in  hers,  and  the  tears  came. 

"There's  no  hope;  she's  dying.  Come  upstairs  —  she 
\vnn1s  to  i:ee  you." 


Chap.  XIII.  The  Blow-Out.  387 

Mrs.  Stanburne  was  lying  in  a  state  of  extreme  exhaustion, 
with  occasional  intervals  of  consciousness,  in  which  the  mind 
was  clear.  When  Jacob  entered  the  sick-room,  she  was  in  one 
of  her  better  moments. 

"  Go  quite  near  to  her,"  said  Mr.  Prigley  ;  "  she  can  only 
speak  in  a  whisper." 

There  had  always  existed  a  great  friendship  between  the 
youth  and  the  old  lady  now  lying  on  the  brink  of  the  grave. 
He  bent  down  over  her,  and  tenderly  kissed  her  forehead. 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  she  whispered,  "  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to 
come." 

Then  she  said,  in  answer  to  his  enquiries,  — 

"I  shall  not  live  long,  but  I  shall  live  rather  longer  than 
they  think.  I  shan't  die  to-night.  I  want  my  son  —  my 
son  !  " 

After  this  supervened  a  syncope,  which  Jacob  and  Edith 
believed  to  be  death.  But  the  Doctor,  with  his  larger  experi- 
ence, reassured  them  for  the  present.  "  She  will  live  several 
hours,"  he  said. 

Jacob  told  them  that  she  had  asked  for  Colonel  Stanburne. 
and  added,  "  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea  where  he  is." 

Then  Edith  made  a  sign  to  him  to  follow  her,  and  led  him 
downstairs  again  to  the  little  sitting-room.  "  Papa  is  a  long 
way  off ;  he  is  in  France.  He  must  be  telegraphed  for."  And 
she  took  a  writing-case  and  wrote  an  address. 

Now,  although  there  was  a  telegraph  from  Wenderholme  to 
Ogden's  Mill  at  Shayton,  there  was  none  from  Shayton  to 
Sootythorn,  which  was  the  nearest  town  of  importance.  So 
the  best  way  appeared  to  be  for  Jacob  to  ride  off  at  once  with 
the  despatch  to  the  station,  which  was  ten  miles  off. 

"  And  you  must  telegraph  for  mamma  at  the  same  time." 
And  Edith  wrote  Lady  Helena's  address. 

A  little  delay  occurred  now,  because  Jacob's  horse  had  to 
be  sent  for  to  Wenderholme  Hall.  Edith  went  upstairs,  and 
soon  came  down  again  with  rather  favorable  news.     The  syn- 


388  Wenderholme.  part  ii. 

cope  had  not  lasted  long,  and  the  patient  s-eemed  to  rally  from 
it  somewhat  more  easily  than  she  had  done  from  the  preced- 
ing ones.  / 

"  Miss  Stanburne  !  "  Said  Jacob,  "  will  you  give  me  a  word 
of  explanation  ?  You  were  hard  and  unkind  the  last  time  we 
spoke  to  each  other." 

"  I  did  very  wrong.  I  thought  I  was  sacrificing  myself  for 
your  good.     I  told  you  nothing  but  lies." 

Half  an  hour  since  Miss  Smethurst  was  within  a  hair's- 
breadth  of  being  lady  of  Wenderholme  ;  but  her  chances  are 
over  now,  and  she  will  not  bring  her  fortune  to  this  place  — 
her  coals  to  this  Newcastle.  As  her  late  partner  in  the  dance 
rides  galloping,  galloping  through  the  wooded  lanes  to  the 
telegraph  station,  his  brain  is  full  of  other  hopes,  and  of  a  far 
higher,  though  less  brilliant,  ambition.  He  will  free  himself 
from  the  Milend  slavery,  and  work  for  independence  —  and 
for  Edith! 


Chap.  XIV.         Mrs.  Ogden  s  Authority.  389 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

MRS.    OGDEN'S    AUTHORITY. 

AFTER  the  apparition  of  Mr,  Prigley,  the  supper  in  the 
long  gallery  changed  its  character  completely.  Until 
he  came  it  had  been  one  of  the  merriest  of  festivals ;  after  he 
went  away,  it  became  one  of  the  dullest.  A  sense  of  uncom- 
fortableness  and  embarrassment  oppressed  everybody  present, 
and  though  many  attempts  were  made  to  give  the  conversation 
something  of  its  old  liveliness,  the  guests  soon  became  aware 
that  for  that  time  it  was  frozen  beyond  hope  of  recovery.  It 
had  been  intended  to  resume  the  dancing  after  supper,  but 
the  dancing  was  not  resumed,  and  the  guests  who  intended  to 
return  to  Shayton  that  night  became  suddenly  impressed  with 
so  strong  a  sense  of  the  distance  of  that  place  from  Wender- 
holme,  that  all  the  pressing  hospitality  of  the  Ogdens  availed 
not  to  retain  them. 

Notwithstanding  the  Philistinism  of  Mrs.  Ogden's  character, 
and  the  external  hardness  which  she  had  in  common  with 
most  of  her  contemporaries  in  Shayton,  she  was  not  without 
heart ;  and  when  she  heard  that  her  son  had  turned  old  Mrs. 
Stanburne  out  of  the  Cottage,  she  both  felt  disapproval  and 
expressed  it.  "Jacob,"  she  said,  "you  shouldn't  'ave  done 
so."  And  she  repeated  many  a  time  to  other  people  in  the 
room,  "  Our  Jacob  shouldn't  'ave  done  so." 

And  when  the  carriages  had  departed,  although  there  were 
still  many  people  in  the  house,  Mrs.  Ogden  put  her  bonnet 
on,  and  had  herself  conducted  to  the  vicarage. 

The  situation  there  might  have  been  embarrassing  for  some 


390  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 

people,  but  Mrs.  Ogden  was  a  woman  who  did  not  feel  em- 
barrassment under  any  circumstances.  She  did  what  was 
right,  or  she  did  what  was  wrong,  in  a  simple  and  resolute 
way,  and  her  very  immunity  from  nervous  reflectiveness  often 
enabled  her  to  do  the  right  thing  when  a  self-conscious  person 
would  hardly  have  ventured  to  do  it.  So  she  knocked  at  Mrs. 
Prigley's  door. 

It  happened  that  the  person  nearest  the  door  at  that 
moment  was  Edith,  who  was  crossing  the  passage  from  one 
room  to  another.     So  Edith  opened  the  door. 

Mrs.  Ogden  walked  in  at  once,  and  asked  very  kindly 
after  Mrs.  Stanburne.  Edith  was  pleased  with  the  genuine 
interest  in  her  manner,  and  showed  her  into  the  little  sitting- 
room. 

The  news  was  rather  more  favorable  than  might  have  been 
hoped  for.  Mrs.  Stanburne  had  had  no  return  of  unconscious- 
ness ;  and  though  the  Doctor  still  thought  she  was  gradually 
sinking,  he  began  to  be  of  opinion  that  her  illness  might  be 
much  longer  than  was  at  first  anticipated,  and  thought  that 
she  would  live  to  see  the  Colonel. 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden ;  "  but  as  you 
speak  of  Mrs.  Stanburne  as  your  grandmamma,  I  know  who 
you  are.  You  're  Miss  Edith.  I  'm  little  Jacob's  grandmamma 
—  Mrs.  Ogden  of  Milend,  whom  no  doubt  you  've  heard 
speak  of." 

Edith  bowed  slightly,  and  then  there  was  rather  an  awkward 
pause. 

"  My  son  Jacob  did  very  wrong  about  your  grandmother 
in  turning  her  out  of  her  house.  I  wish  we  could  make 
amends." 

Edith  tried  to  say  something  polite  in  acknowledgment  of 
Mrs.  Ogden's  advance,  but  it  ended  in  tears.  "  I  'm  afraid  it 
is  too  late,"  she  said,  finally. 

The  young  lady's  evident  love  for  her  grandmother  won  the 
heart  of  Mrs.  Ogden,  who  was  herself  a  grandmother.     "Tell 


Chap.  XIV.         Mrs.  Ogdens  Authority.  391 

me  what  has  been  done,  my  dear.  I  know  nothing  about  it ; 
I  only  heard  about  it  to-night.  Has  Mrs.  Stanburne  removed 
her  furniture  ? " 

"  Not  quite  all  yet.  Most  of  it  is  here,  in  Mr.  Prigley's  out- 
houses. It  was  the  hurry  of  the  removal  that  brought  on 
grandmamma's  illness." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  laying  her  hand  upon 
Edith's,  "  let  us  pray  to  God  that  she  may  live.  And  we  'U 
have  all  the  furniture  put  back  into  the  Cottage." 

"  I  don't  think  grandmamma  would  consent  to  that." 

"  But  I  '11  make  my  son  come  and  beg  her  pardon.  I  '11 
make  him  come  !  " 

Edith  could  not  resist  Mrs.  Ogden's  earnestness.  "  I  will 
try  to  bring  grandmamma  round,  if  she  lives.  You  are  very 
kind,  Mrs.  Ogden." 

"Now,  if  you'd  like  me  to  sit  up  with  Mrs.  Stanburne,  if 
you  and  Mrs.  Prigley  was  tired,  you  know  ?  I  'm  an  old 
woman,  but  I  'm  a  strong  one,  and  I  can  sit  up  well  enough. 
I  've  been  used  to  nursing.  I  nursed  our  Isaac  wife  all 
through  her  last  illness." 

"  Mrs.  Prigley  and  I  can  do  very  well  for  to-night ;  but  to- 
morrow, in  the  day-time,  we  shall  need  a  little  rest,  -and  if  you 
would  come  we  should  be  much  obliged." 

"  And  if  there  was  any  thing  I  could  send  from  the  great 
'ouse  —  any  jellies  or  blomonge .''  " 

"  Thank  you  ;  if  we  want  any  thing  we  will  send  for  it  to  the 
Hall." 

Mrs.  Ogden  rose  to  take  her  leave,  which  she  did  very 
affectionately.  "  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  am  angry  at  our  Jacob.  He  shouldn't  'ave  done 
so  —  he  shouldn't  'ave  done  so." 

She  had  no  notion  of  abdicating  parental  authority  —  no 
idea  that,  because  a  lad  happened  to  be  twenty-one,  or  thirty- 
one,  or  forty-one,  he  was  to  be  free  to  do  exactly  as  he  liked. 
And  when  she  got  back  to  the  Hall,  and  the  guests  were  in 


392  Wender holme.  Parv  ii. 

bed,  she  treated  "our  Jacob"  en  petit  gargon^  just  as  if  he  had 
been  fifteen.  She  informed  him  that  Mrs.  Stanburne's  fur- 
niture would  be  reinstated  in  Wenderholme  Cottage  immedi- 
ately, and  that  if  she  recovered  he  would  have  to  go  there  and 
eat  humble-pie.  "  An'  if  who  doesn't  get  better,  it  '11  be  thee 
as  has  murdered  her ;  and  thou  '11  desarve  to  be  hanged  for 't, 
same  as  Bill  o'  great  John's  *  as  shot  old  Nanny  Suthers  wi' 
a  pistil." 

•  A  common  form  of  sobriquet  in  Lancashire. 


Chap  XV.  Lady  Helena  returns.  39; 


CHAPTER   XV. 

LADY   HELENA   RETURNS. 

MRS.  OGDEN  returned  to  the  vicarage  the  next  day,  and 
found  Mrs.  Stanburne  in  the  same  condition  of  ex- 
treme exhaustion.  The  Rigton  doctor  had  arrived  in  the  in- 
terval, and  relieved  Dr.  Bardly,  who  returned  to  Shayton. 
The  two  medical  men  had  expressed  the  same  opinion  — 
namely,  that  the  old  lady  was  gradually,  but  quite  surely, 
sinking. 

Mrs.  Ogden  took  her  place  by  the  bedside,  and  relieved 
Mrs.  Prigley  and  Edith.  The  patient  being  perfectly  con- 
scious, and  in  possession  of  all  her  mental  faculties,  Edith 
had  told  her  about  Mrs.  Ogden's  first  visit;  and  when  she 
came  near  the  bedside,  Mrs.  Stanburne  held  out  her  hand,  or 
rather  attempted  to  do  so  —  for  she  had  not  strength  to  lift  it 
—  and  it  fell  upon  the  counterpane.  Then  she  whispered  a 
few  words  of  thanks  and  welcome.  "  My  son  Jacob  shouldn't 
have  done  so  —  he  shouldn't  have  done  so,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden  ; 
and  in  reply  there  came  faint  syllables  of  forgiveness.  Then 
Mrs.  Ogden  asked  Mrs.  Stanburne  if  she  would  prove  her  for- 
giveness by  going  back  to  Wenderholme  Cottage. 

"  If  I  live,  I  will." 

'*  Live !  why  you  're  sure  to  live.  You  're  quite  a  young 
woman.  Look  at  me,  how  strong  I  am,  and  I  'm  older  than 
you  are.  It 's  nothing  but  the  hurry  and  worry  of  leaving 
your  'ouse  that  you  was  accustomed  to  that 's  brought  you 
down  in  this  way.  You'll  get  well  again  —  I'm  sure  you 
will ;  only,  we  must  take  care  of  you.     Now  we  've  had  enough 


394 


Wenderholme.  part  ii 


talking  for  the  present,  and  I  '11  get  my  sewing  ;  and  if  you 
want  any  thing,  I  '11  fetch  it  for  you." 

'I'hen  the  strong  old  woman  sat  down  by  the  bedside  of  the 
weaker  one,  and  from  that  time  forth  established  herself  as 
one  of  her  recognized  nurses,  and  by  no  means  the  least 
efficient.  In  one  essential  point  she  was  superior  both  to 
Edith  and  Mrs.  Prigley  —  she  was  less  melancholy  and  more 
encouraging.  The  others  could  not  help  cr}nng,  and  the  pa- 
tient saw  that  they  had  been  crying,  which  made  her  feel  as 
if  she  were  assisting  at  her  own  funeral  ;  whereas  Mrs.  Og- 
den  kept  a  cheerful  countenance,  and,  though  as  gentle  as  a 
woman  could  be,  had  nevertheless  a  fine  firmness  and  cour- 
age which  made  Mrs.  Stanburne  feel  that  she  could  rely  upon 
her.  Another  immense  advantage  was,  that  in  the  presence 
of  this  hale  and  active  example  of  a  vigorous  old  age,  Mrs. 
Stanburne  altogether  ceased  to  feel  the  burden  of  her  years, 
and  began  to  consider  herself  simply  as  a  sick  person  in  a 
state  of  temporary  exhaustion,  instead  of  an  old  woman 
whose  thread  of  life  had  come  to  its  inevitable  end.  Indeed, 
Mrs.  Ogden  had  not  been  long  with  the  invalid  before  both 
of  them  had  given  up  the  theory  that  she  was  gradually  sink- 
ing, and  replaced  it  by  more  hopeful  views. 

Young  Jacob's  interest  in  Mrs.  Stanburne's  health  proved 
to  be  so  strong  that  he  could  hardly  absent  himself  from  the 
vicarage  ;  yet  though  Mrs.  Ogden  must  have  been  perfectly 
well  aware  that  he  passed  a  good  deal  of  his  time  there  with 
Miss  Edith,  she  showed  no  sign  of  displeasure,  but  when  she 
found  them  together,  seemed  to  consider  it  perfectly  natural, 
and  spoke  to  Edith  always  affectionately,  calling  her  "my 
dear,"  and  putting  an  unaccustomed  tenderness  even  into  the 
very  tones  of  her  voice.  The  lord  of  Wenderholme  and  his 
remaining  guests  left  for  Shayton  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon, but  Mrs.  Ogden  declared  her  intention  of  remaining 
until  her  patient  was  out  of  danger  ;  and  though  her  son  had 
suggested  that  young  Jacob  was  not  absolutely  necessary  as  a 


Chap.  XV.  Lady  Hele7ia  returns.  395 

nurse,  Mrs.  Ogden  asserted  that  it  was  "  a  great  comfort  "  to 
her  to  have  him  near  her,  and  that  he  should  go  back  to 
Milend  with  his  grandmother  at  such  times  as  she  might  see  fit 
to  return  thither.  Jacob  Ogden  was  a  wilful  and  a  mighty 
man  ;  but  either  from  habit  or  some  genuine  filial  sentiment, 
or  perhaps  because  no  man  can  be  really  happy  unless  he 
is  governed  by  a  woman  of  some  sort  —  either  a  wife,  or  a 
mother,  or  a  maiden  aunt  —  this  hard  and  terrible  master- 
spirit submitted  to  "  the  old  woman  "  without  question,  and 
whatever  she  willed  was  done. 

In  saying  that  all  Jacob  Ogden's  guests  went  back  with 
him  to  Shayton,  an  exception  must  be  made  in  the  case  of 
his  elder  brother.  Captain  Ogden,  as  he  was  now  generally 
called  (for  the  people  had  gradually  got  into  the  habit  of  giv- 
ing militia  officers  their  titles),  remained  at  Wenderholme,  for 
reasons  of  his  own.  He  knew  that  Colonel  Stanburne  had 
been  telegraphed  for,  and  wished  to  see  him.  Perhaps,  too, 
he  thought  it  might  be  agreeable  to  John  Stanburne  to  find  a 
sincere  friend  in  his  old  place,  and  that  he  might  be  able  in 
some  degree  to  mitigate  the  painfulness  of  an  unavoidable  re- 
turn to  scenes  which  could  not  be  revisited  without  awaken- 
ing many  regretful  associations. 

As  all  the  Prigley  children  were  at  school  except  Conny, 
now  a  young  lady  who  was  supposed  to  have  "  come  out," 
though  in  fact  no  such  ceremony  had  taken  place,  from  the 
want  of  any  society  to  come  out  in,  the  vicarage  was  able  to 
accommodate  a  good  many  guests,  and  the  Prigleys  were  only 
too  happy  to  place  it  at  the  disposal  of  the  family  to  whom 
they  owed  their  recent  advancement  in  the  world.  It  was  a 
pleasant  and  spacious,  though  not  a  very  elegant,  house ;  and 
there  was  a  large  garden,  and  an  orchard,  and  a  glebe  of  two 
or  three  fields,  with  sufficient  stabling  and  out-houses.  They 
had  set  up  a  small  pony-carriage,  or  rather  continued  that 
which  belonged  to  the  late  vicar,  which  they  had  purchased  at 
the  sale,  with  pony  and  harness  complete,  for  the  moderate 


396  Wenderhobne.  Part  il 

sum  of  nine  guineas  ;  and  Conny  Prigley  set  off  in  this  ma- 
chine to  await  the  train  by  which  Lady  Helena  was  expected 
to  arrive.  This  arrangement  was  made  without  Mrs.  Ogden's 
knowledge,  and  when  she  came  to  be  aware  of  it,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  Well,  now,  I  wish  I  'd  known  —  I  do  indeed,  I  wish 
I'd  known  —  for  there's  my  cayridge  at  the  'All,  which  is 
quite  at  your  service.  Our  Jacob 's  gone  back  with  Miss 
Smethurst,  and  he  's  left  me  my  cayridge,  which  you  would 
have  been  quite  welcome  to."  But  the  Prigleys  had  tact 
enough  to  know,  that  although  her  ladyship  rather  liked  to  be 
magnificent,  she  might  not  particularly  care  for  it  to  be  Mrs. 
Ogden's  magnificence  ;  and  that  the  little  green  pony-carriage, 
driven  by  Conny  Prigley,  was  a  more  suitable  vehicle  to  bring 
her  ladyship  to  the  vicarage  than  the  sumptuous  chariot  in 
which  Mrs.  Ogden  had  triumphed  the  day  before. 

Lady  Helena  duly  arrived.  It  did  not  require  much  expla- 
nation from  Edith  to  make  the  whole  situation  quite  clear  to 
her  perspicuous  mind.  She  went  upstairs  to  see  Mrs.  Stan- 
burne,  who  was  grateful  to  her  for  coming  so  soon,  and  the 
first  person  she  saw  in  the  room  was  Mrs.  Ogden. 

There  was  a  little  stiffness  at  first,  but  it  did  not  last  long. 
Lady  Helena  and  Mrs.  Ogden  got  into  conversation  about 
the  state  of  the  patient,  and  then  about  other  matters  con- 
nected with  what  might  be  called  the  diocese  of  the  Lady  of 
Wenderholme.  Had  Mrs.  Ogden  been  one  of  the  examples, 
so  numerous  in  these  days,  of  amazingly  refined  ladyhood  in 
the  middle  classes,  Lady  Helena  might  have  been  jealous  of 
her  ;  but  how  was  it  possible  for  her  ladyship  to  feel  jealous 
of  a  simple  old  woman  like  Mrs.  Ogden,  who  spoke  broad 
Lancashire,  and  in  every  movement  of  her  body,  and  every 
utterance  of  her  lips,  proclaimed  the  humility  of  her  birth  ? 
Lady  Helena,  moreover,  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  it 
was  impossible  not  to  feel  interested  and  amused,  as  soon  as 
the  first  anxiety  about  Mrs.  Stanburne  was  at  least  tempora- 
rily tranquillized,  by  Mrs.  Ogden's  quaint  turns  of  expression, 


Chap.  XV.  Lady  Helena  returns.  397 

and  her  wonderful  reliance  on  her  own  wisdom  and  experi- 
ence. Even  Mrs.  Stanburne,  ill  as  she  was,  could  not  help 
smiling,  as  she  lay  in  her  bed  of  sickness,  when  Mrs.  Ogden 
came  out  with  some  of  those  sayings  which  were  peculiarly 
her  own. 

The  condition  of  the  invalid  had  become  less  distressing 
and  less  alarming,  though  the  Doctor  still  held  out  no  hopes 
of  a  recovery.  Mrs.  Ogden,  however,  had  succeeded  in 
making  the  patient  believe  that  she  would  get  better  because 
she  believed  it  herself,  and  she  believed  it  herself  because 
the  idea  of  a  person  dying  of  mere  weakness  at  the  early  age 
of  seventy-two  was  not  admissible  to  her  patriarchal  mind.  It 
was  a  great  thing  for  Mrs.  Stanburne  to  have  somebody  near 
her  who  did  not  consider  that  she  was  used  up,  and  she  began 
to  regard  Mrs.  Ogden  with  the  partiality  which  human  nature 
always  feels  for  those  who  preach  comfortable  doctrine. 

As  there  were  so  many  ladies  to  nurse  Mrs.  Stanburne, 
and  as  the  invalid  now  gave  comparatively  little  immediate 
anxiety,  Edith  easily  got  Lady  Helena  to  herself  for  half 
an  hour. 

The  young  lady  was  firmly  resolved  upon  one  thing  — 
namely,  that  this  opportunity  for  a  reconciliation  between 
her  father  and  mother  should  not  be  lost  through  any  pusil- 
lanimity of  hers. 

" Mamma,"  she  said  boldly,  "why  did  you  leave  papa  when 
he  was  ruined  ?  " 

"  Because  he  ordered  me  to  leave  him ;  because  he  turned 
me  out  of  the  house." 

"  But  why  did  he  do  so  ?  It  is  quite  contrary  to  his  char- 
acter to  turn  anybody  out.  When  he  dismissed  the  servants, 
he  did  it  very  kindly,  and  only  because  he  could  not  afford  to 
keep  them." 

Lady  Helena  remained  silent. 

"  Do  tell  me,  mamma,  why  he  behaved  so.  It  isn't  like 
him ;  you  know  it  isn't  like  him." 


39 8  Wenderholme.  Pari  ii. 

"  There  are  people,  Edith,"  said  her  ladyship,  "  who  com- 
mit great  follies  ;  and  then,  when  the  misfortunes  come  which 
they  themselves  have  caused,  they  cannot  endure  to  hear  one 
word  of  blame.  They  must  be  pitied  and  sympathized  with, 
and  then  they  are  very  nice  and  amiable  \  but  if  you  express 
the  least  censure,  they  fly  into  a  passion  and  insult  you." 

"You  mean  that  you  censured  papa  for  his  imprudence, 
and  that  he  got  angry." 

"  I  said  very  little  to  him.  I  said  a  few  words  which  were 
strictly  true.     I  never  scold." 

"  No,  mamma,  you  never  scold ;  but  scolding  would  be 
easier  to  bear  than  your  blame.  I  see  how  it  all  was ;  you 
blamed  papa  in  two  or  three  terribly  just  and  severe  words, 
and  then,  after  that,  you  said  nothing  to  console  him  in  his 
misery,  and  he  became  irritable,  and  said  something  hasty." 

Lady  Helena  said  nothing  to  this,  but  she  did  not  look 
displeased;  and  she  showed  no  inclination  either  to  leave 
the  room  or  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Dear  mamma,  I  don't  think  you  did  wrong  in  blaming 
papa's  imprudence;  but  if  you  had  given  him  one  word  of 
kindness  afterwards,  you  would  never  have  lost  him." 

"  Is  not  this  rather  "  — 

"  Impertinent  from  a  daughter,  you  mean  to  say.  You 
know  I  don't  want  to  be  impertinent,  mamma  ;  but  I  'm  old 
enough  to  be  of  some  use,  and  I  mean  to  be,  too,  whether 
your  ladyship  is  quite  satisfied  or  not.  Are  you  aware  that 
papa  will  be  here  to-morrow  1  " 

"  It  is  natural  that  he  should  come  here,  as  his  mother  is  ill." 

"  And  when  he  comes,  we  must  do  what  we  can  to  help  him 
to  bear  his  afflictions,  I  suppose." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  we  won't  pass  any  more  votes  of  censure,  mamma, 
will  we  >  And  we  shall  forgive  him  his  trespasses,  shall 
we  not?" 

To  this  Lady  Helena  made  no  reply ;  but  her  face  wore 


Chap.  XV.  Lady  Helejta  7'eturns.  399 

a  new  and  a  softer  expression.  This  encouraged  Edith,  who 
continued :  — 

"  He  has  suffered  enough.  He  has  been  living  all  by 
himself  in  a  miserable  little  French  town  on  the  Loire.  I 
have  a  whole  heap  of  his  letters.  Ht  told  me  every  thing 
about  his  situation.  Grandpapa  has  been  allowing  him  three 
hundred  a-year — he  has  never  touched  a  penny  of  it;  it 
is  paid  regularly  to  grandmamma  Stanburne,  who  does  not 
know  that  she  is  ruined,  and  who  fancies  that  papa  has  an 
allowance,  and  lives  abroad  for  his  pleasure.  His  letters  to 
her  are  all  about  amusements,  but  he  writes  to  me  sincerely, 
and  /  know  what  his  life  has  been.  He  has  got  a  post  as 
English  master  in  a  school,  and  they  pay  him  twenty-five 
francs  a-week,  but  he  gives  lessons  in  the  town,  and  gets  two 
francs  a  lesson,  only  he  has  not  many  of  these.  He  is  en 
pension  in  an  inn.  It  is  a  miserably  lonely  life.  I  would 
have  gone  to  him,  but  I  could  not  leave  grandmamma." 

Lady  Helena's  eyes  glistened  in  the  firelight.  They  were 
brimming  with  tears.  "  You  should  have  told  me  this  sooner, 
Edith,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  Would  you  have  gone  to  him  ?  Would  you  have  gone  to 
live  with  him  there,  in  his  lodgings,  and  cheer  him  after  his 
day's  work  ? " 

"  I  have  been  less  happy,  Edith,  during  these  last  months, 
than  I  should  have  been  with  him,  wherever  he  is,  however 
poor  he  is." 

After  this  avowal  of  her  ladyship,  the  chances  are  great,  I 
think,  that  the  Colonel  will  be  agreeably  received  at  the  vicar- 
age. Miss  Edith  communicated  as  much  to  the  worthy  vicar 
himself,  who,  though  with  Anglican  discretion  he  would  have 
avoided  intruding  in  the  character  of  peacemaker,  thought 
it  a  duty  to  encourage  Lady  Helena  in  the  path  of  charity  and 
forgiveness. 

"  Forgive  him  heartily  and  entirely  any  thing  you  may  have 
to  forgive.  Go  to  him  at  once  when  he  comes.  All  your 
days  will  be  blessed  for  this." 


400  Wenderhobne.  Part  ii. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE    COLONEL    COMES. 

IN  the  evening  came  a  telegram  from  the  Colonel,  dated 
from  Dover,  and  announcing  his  arrival  for  the  following 
morning.  "  What  a  pity  it  is,"  said  Lady  Helena,  "  that  he 
did  not  give  us  a  London  address  !  we  might  have  spared  him 
a  whole  night  of  anxiety."  She  was  thinking  about  him  just 
as  she  used  to  think  about  him  in  their  happiest  years. 

On  reference  to  the  time-table,  it  appeared  that  the  Colonel 
would  arrive  at  the  station  at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. When  Captain  Ogden  heard  of  this,  he  said  he  would 
go  to  meet  him,  and  so  did  young  Jacob  ;  and  Mrs.  Ogden 
offered  her  carriage,  and,  in  short,  there  was  a  general  fuss, 
to  which  Lady  Helena  suddenly  put  an  end  by  declaring  her 
intention  of  going  to  meet  him  herself  in  the  little  pony- 
carriage  that  belonged  to  the  vicarage.  Mr.  Prigley  smiled 
approbation,  and  assured  her  ladyship  that  he  would  lend  her 
that  humble  equipage  with  great  pleasure,  meaning  a  great 
deal  more  than  he  said. 

So  Lady  Helena  drove  off  in  the  little  green  carriage  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  for  the  station,  as  the  reader 
may  remember,  was  ten  miles  from  Wenderholme,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  bait  the  pony  before  he  came  back.  It  was  a 
rude  little  equipage  altogether,  not  very  well  hung,  and  by 
no  means  elegant  in  its  proportions.  The  pony,  too,  in 
anticipation  of  winter,  was  beginning  to  put  on  his  rough 
coat,  and  his  harness  had  long  since  lost  any  brilliance  it 
might  have  once  possessed.     The  morning  was  cold  and  raw, 


Chap.  XVI.  The  Colonel  comes.  401 

and  a  chilly  gray  dawn  was  in  the  east  —  an  aurora  of  the 
least  encouraging  kind,  which  one  always  feels  disposed  to  be 
angry  at  for  coming  and  disturbing  the  more  cheerful  dark- 
ness. Some  people  at  the  vicarage  were  astonished  that  Mr. 
Prigley  should  allow  her  ladyship  to  drive  off  alone  in  this 
dreary  way  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning;  but  then  these 
people  did  not  know  all  that  Mr.  Prigley  knew.  When  Lady 
Helena  got  into  the  carriage,  the  vicar  shook  hands  with 
her  in  an  uncommonly  affectionate  manner,  just  as  if  she  had 
been  leaving  him  for  a  very  long  time,  and  then  he  said 
something  to  her  in  a  very  low  tone.  "  Dear  Lady  Helena," 
he  said,  "  God  bless  you  !  "  and  it  is  my  firm  belief  that  if 
Mrs.  Prigley  had  not  been  within  sight,  that  vicar  would  have 
given  Lady  Helena  a  kiss. 

Away  went  the  pony  through  the  darkling  lanes,  with  the 
rattling  machine  after  him.  Poor  pony !  he  had  often  done 
that  long  journey  to  the  station,  and  done  it  with  reasonable 
celerity,  but  he  had  never  trotted  so  fast  as  he  trotted  now. 
Can  it  be  the  early  morning  air  that  so  exhilarates  her  lady- 
ship? Her  face  is  so  bright  and  cheerful  that  it  conquers 
the  dreariness  of  the  hour,  and  brings  a  better  sunshine  than 
the  gray  October  dawn.  How  little  we  know  under  what 
circumstances  we  shall  enjoy  the  purest  and  sweetest  felicity  1 
This  little  woman  had  been  in  lordly  equipages,  in  all  sorts 
of  splendid  pleasures  and  stately  ceremonies ;  she  had  been 
drawn  by  magnificent  horses,  with  a  powdered  coachman  on 
the  box,  and  a  cluster  of  lacqueys  behind ;  she  had  gone  in 
diamonds  and  feathers  to  St.  James's ;  better  still,  she  had 
driven  through  the  fairest  scenery  under  cloudless  skies, 
when  all  nature  rejoiced  around  her.  All  the  luxury  that 
skilled  craftsmen  can  produce  in  combination  had  been  hers  ; 
carriages  hung  so  delicately,  and  cushioned  so  sofdy,  that 
they  seemed  to  float  on  air ;  harness  that  seemed  as  if  its 
only  purpose  were  to  enhance  the  beauty  of  the  horses  which 
it  adorned;  liveries,  varnish,  silver,  and  the  rest  of  it.     And 

26 


402  Wender holme.  Part  ii 

yet,  of  all  the  drives  that  Lady  Helena  had  ever  taken  in  her 
whole  life,  this  was  the  most  delightful,  this  drive  in  the  dreary 
dawn  of  an  October  morning  in  a  rattling  little  carriage  with 
stiff  springs,  painted  like  a  park  paling,  and  drawn  by  a 
shaggy  pony  at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour  ! 

She  reached  the  station  half  an  hour  before  the  train  came, 
and  sat  a  little  in  the  waiting-room,  and  walked  about  on  the 
platform,  in  a  state  of  nervous  fidgetiness  and  anxiety.  At 
length  the  bell  rang,  and  the  engine  came  round  a  curve,  and 
grew  bigger  and  bigger,  and  her  heart  beat  faster  and  faster. 
"There  he  is,  poor  John,  getting  out  of  a  third-class  car- 
riage !  "  Lady  Helena  had  been  seeking  him  amongst  the 
well-to-do  first-class  passengers. 

She  ran  to  him,  and  took  his  hand  in  both  hers,  and  said, 
"  She  's  better,  love  —  a  good  deal  better  since  yesterday." 
And  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 

The  Colonel  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  took  both 
her  hands,  and  would  have  said  something,  or  perhaps  gone 
so  far  as  to  give  her  just  one  little  kiss  on  the  forehead  — 
which  is  a  wonderful  thing  for  an  Englishman  to  achieve  in 
a  railway  station  —  but  these  good  intentions  were  frustrated 
by  the  guard,  who,  in  rather  a  peremptory  way,  demanded  to 
know  whether  he  had  any  luggage. 

John  Stanburne  felt  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  Going  back 
to  Wenderholme,  no  longer  his,  with  Helena,  his  own  Helena 
once  more  !  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  cherish  the  least 
vindictive  feeling,  and  that  one  word  of  his  wife  had  wiped 
away  every  evil  recollection.  When  they  got  into  the  little 
pony-carriage,  and  were  out  of  hearing  of  the  hostler,  the 
Colonel  turned  to  her  ladyship,  and  said, — 

"  I  owe  you  a  great  many  apologies,  dear.  I  behaved  very 
badly  the  last  time  we  were  together,  but  I  was  upset,  you 
know.  You  are  a  good  woman  to  come  and  meet  me  in  this 
way,  and  forgive  me.  I  have  meant  to  write  to  you  many 
a  time  and  say  how  sorry  I  was,  but  I  put  it  off  because  — 
because"  — 


Chap.  XVI.  TJic  Coloiiel  comes.  403 

It  is  well  that  the  pony  was  quiet,  and  knew  its  own  way 
to  Wenderholme,  for  when  they  got  into  an  uncommonly 
retired  lane,  with  very  high  hedges,  her  ladyship,  who  was 
driving,  threw  the  reins  down,  and  embraced  the  gentleman 
by  her  side  in  an  extraordinary  manner.  Then  came  pas- 
sionate tears,  and  after  that  she  grew  calmer. 

"  What  geese  we  were  to  fancy  we  could  live  separately  !  " 
she  said. 

And  then  they  talked  incessantly  the  whole  way.  She 
asked  him  a  thousand  questions  about  his  life  abroad,  —  how 
he  passed  his  evenings,  whether  he  had  found  any  society, 
and  so  on.  As  the  Colonel  told  her  about  his  humble,  lonely 
life,  she  listened  with  perfect  sympathy  ;  and  when  he  said 
that  some  people  had  been  kind  to  him,  and  got  him  pupils, 
she  wanted  to  know  all  about  them.  "I'm  getting  on 
famously,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  I  'm  earning  nearly  sixty 
francs  a-week,  and  I  pronounce  French  better  than  I  used 
to  do." 


404  Wenderholme.  Part  il 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A     MORNING    CALL. 

SINCE  we  are  obliged  to  leave  the  vicarage  now,  the 
reader  must  be  told  the  exact  truth  about  Mrs.  Stan- 
burne's  condition.  It  continued  to  give  great  anxiety  for 
several  weeks,  and  all  her  friends,  even  including  the  doctors, 
gave  her  up  over  and  over  again,  believing  that  she  had  not 
more  than  an  hour  or  two  to  live ;  yet  she  always  passed 
through  these  times  of  danger,  and  gradually,  very  gradually, 
began  to  feel  rather  stronger  in  the  month  of  December. 
The  season  of  the  year  was  not  favorable  to  her,  but  Dr. 
Bardly  hoped  that  if  she  could  be  sustained  till  the  return 
of  spring,  she  would  regain  her  strength,  at  least  in  a  great 
measure,  and  probably  have  several  years  of  life  still  before 
her.  She  bore  the  winter  better  than  had  been  expected, 
though  without  quitting  her  room  at  the  vicarage,  and  in  the 
month  of  April  entered  upon  a  convalescence  which  aston- 
ished all  around  her. 

The  old  lady's  illness  led  to  very  important  consequences. 
Since  the  period  of  her  danger  was  protracted,  her  friends 
remained  near  her  day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  always 
believing  that  they  were  performing  the  last  duty  by  a  death- 
bed. A  great  sadness  reigned  in  the  vicarage  during  all  this 
season  of  watching,  but  it  was  sadness  of  the  kind  which  is 
most  favorable  to  sympathy  and  good  feeling.  The  vicar 
and  his  good  wife,  so  far  from  feeling  the  presence  of  the 
invalid  and  their  other  guests  a  burden,  were  glad  that  it 
was  in  their  power  to  do  any  thing  for  her  and  for  them  j 


Chap.  XVII.  A  Moming  Call.  405 

and  whilst  the  old  lady  lay  upon  her  bed  of  sickness  she 
was  producing  happier  and  more  important  results,  siraply 
by  throwing  certain  persons  together  by  invisible  bonds  of 
mutual  approval  and  a  common  anxiety,  than  she  could  ever 
have  achieved  by  an  active  ingerence  in  their  afifairs.  E\'eiy- 
body  who  loved  old  Mrs.  Stanburne  was  grateful  to  everybody 
who  gave  proof  of  a  real  interest  in  her  condition  ;  and  the 
majestic  approach  of  death,  whose  shadow  lay  on  the  vicar- 
age so  long,  subdued  all  its  inhabitants  into  a  more  perfect 
spiritual  harmony  than  they  would  ever  have  attained  to 
amongst  the  distractions  of  gayer,  though  not  happier,  days. 
Lady  Helena  was  admirable.  There  was  a  tenderness  and 
a  simplicity  in  her  manner  which  pleased  the  Colonel  greatly, 
and  won  the  warm  approval  of  the  vicar.  She  devoted  her- 
self mainly  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Stanburne,  but,  saying  that 
exercise  was  necessary  to  enable  her  to  do  her  duty  as  a 
nurse,  made  the  Colonel  walk  out  with  her  every  day.  These 
walks  were  delightful  to  both  of  them  —  for  even  though  the 
scenery  about  the  village  of  Wenderholme  was  full  of  painful 
associations,  their  sense  of  loss  was  more  than  balanced  by 
the  sense  of  a  yet  larger  gain ;  and  the  future,  though  it 
could  not  have  the  external  brilliance  of  the  past,  promised 
a  deeper  and  more  firm  felicity.  Sadness  and  unhappiness 
are  two  very  different  conditions  of  the  mind,  and  it  does 
not  follow  that  because  we  are  saddened  we  are  incapable  of 
being  very  happy  in  a  certain  quiet  and  not  unenviable  way. 
Indeed,  it  might  even  be  asserted,  that  as 

"Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  which  tell  of  saddest  thought"  — 

so  it  is  with  life  itself,  as  well  as  poetr}^,  and  that  our  sweetest 
hours  are  far  from  being  our  gayest. 

It  had  become  tacitly  understood  that  neither  Lady  Helena 
nor  Mrs.  Ogden  would  offer  any  opposition  to  the  marriage 
between  Jacob  and  Edith.  Whatever  Mrs.  Ogden  determined 
to  do,  she  did  in  a  thorough  and  effectual  manner  ;  and  as 
she  had  resolved  that  amends  ought  to  be  made  to  the  Stan- 


4o6  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 

burnes  for  her  son's  conduct  to  the  old  lady,  she  considered 
that  the  best  way  to  do  this  would  be  to  receive  Edith  kindly 
into  her  family.  In  this  resolution  she  was  greatly  helped 
by  a  genuine  approval  of  the  young  lady  herself.  "  There  's 
some  girls  as  brings  fortunes,"  she  said  to  young  Jacob,  "  and 
there  's  other  girls  as  is  a  fortune  themselves,  and  I  think 
Miss  Stanburne  will  be  as  good  as  a  fortune  to  any  one  who 
may  marry  her."  Nor  had  this  opinion  been  lightly  arrived 
at,  for  during  her  frequent  visits  to  the  vicarage,  Mrs.  Ogden 
had  studied  Edith,  much  in  the  same  way  as  an  entomologist 
studies  an  insect  under  a  microscope. 

One  day,  when  the  weather  became  a  little  warmer,  Lady 
Helena  said  to  the  Colonel,  "  Don't  you  think,  dear,  that  we 
ought  to  go  and  call  upon  that  old  Mrs.  Ogden  at  the  Hall  ? 
She  has  been  exceedingly  kind  in  coming  to  sit  with  mamma. 
I  would  have  suggested  it  sooner,  but  I  was  afraid  it  might  be 
painful  for  you,  dear,  to  go  to  the  old  house  again." 

So  they  set  out  and  walked  to  the  Hall  together,  both  of 
them  feeling  very  strange  feelings,  indeed,  as  they  passed  up 
the  familiar  avenue.  When  they  came  at  last  in  sight  of  the 
great  house,  John  Stanburne  paused  and  gazed  upon  it  for  a 
long  time  without  speaking.  It  stood  just  as  he  had  left  it  — 
none  of  the  carved  Stanburne  shields  had  been  removed. 
"  I  'm  glad  they  've  altered  nothing,  Helena,"  he  said. 

Then  they  met  their  old  gardener,  who  spoke  to  them  with 
the  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  It 's  different  for  us  to  what  it  used 
to  be,  my  lady,"  he  said  ;  "  not  but  what  Mrs.  Ogden  is  a 
good  woman,  but  her  son  is  a  hard  master." 

"We  were  coming  to  see  Mrs.  Ogden,"  said  Lady  Helena; 
"  do  you  know  if  she  is  at  home  ? " 

"  You  won't  find  her  in  the  house,  my  lady ;  but  if  you  will 
come  this  way,  I  '11  take  you  to  where  she  is." 

Nature  always  puts  some  element  of  comedy  into  the  most 
touching  circumstances,  and  saves  us  from  morbid  feelings 
by  glimpses  of  the  ludicrous  side  of  life.     Thus,  although  tlie 


Chap.  XVII.  A  Moming  Call.  407 

gardener  had  had  tears  in  his  eyes  when  he  saw  the  Colonel 
and  Lady  Helena,  there  vvas  a  smile  upon  his  face  as  he  led 
them  in  the  direction  of  the  stables. 

"  Your  ladyship  will  find  Mrs.  Ogden  in  that  carriage,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  the  magnificent  Ogden  chariot,  which  stood, 
as  if  to  air  itself,  without  horses,  in  the  middle  of  the  yard. 
When  he  had  said  this,  the  gardener  made  his  bow  and  disap- 
peared, sniding  with  keen  satisfaction  at  what  he  had  just  do  ae. 

The  visitors  were  much  surprised,  but,  as  the  gardener  well 
knew,  curiosity  alone  was  strong  enough  to  make  them  go  jp 
to  the  carriage  and  see  whether  there  was  anybody  inside  it. 
The  Colonel  peeped  in  at  the  window,  and  saw  Mrs.  Ogden 
sitting  in  the  vehicle,  apparently  in  quite  a  settled  and  per- 
manent way,  for  she  had  her  knitting. 

"  Eh,  well,  it 's  the  Colonel  and  her  ladyship,  I  declare  !  " 
cried  Mrs.  Ogden,  opening  the  carriage-door.  "  Come  and 
get  in  — do  get  in  —  it's  very  comfortable.  I  often  come  and 
sit  here  a  bit  of  an  afternoon  with  my  knitting.  But  what 
perhaps  you  'd  rather  go  and  sit  a  bit  i'  th'  'ouse  ? " 

They  got  inside  the  carriage  with  the  old  lady,  and  their 
amusement  at  this  circumstance  quite  relieved  those  feelings 
of  melancholy  which  had  naturally  taken  possession  of  them 
on  revisiting  Wenderholme.  The  conversation  was  quite 
agreeable  and  animated,  and  half  an  hour  passed  very  rap- 
idly.    After  that,  the  callers  proposed  to  depart. 

"  Nay,"  said  Mrs.  Ogden,  "youwilln't  be  going  away  so 
soon,  will  you?  Come  into  th'  'ouse,  now  —  do  come  and 
have  a  glass  of  wine." 

Lady  Helena  promised  that  they  would  come  to  the  house 
another  day,  but  said  that  she  wished  to  go  back  to  Mrs. 
Stanburne.  On  this  Mrs.  Ogden  said,  "  Well,  then,  if  you 
will  go  back,  sit  you  still."  And  she  let  down  the  glass  and 
called  out  in  a  loud  voice  for  the  horses. 

The  horses  were  put  to  the  carriage,  and  the  visitors  shortly 
found    themselves    in    motion    tovvards    the    vicarage,    which 


4o8  Wende'j'holme.  Pari-  ii. 

proves  the  advantage  of  receiving  friends  in  a  small  drawing- 
room  on  four  wheels.  The  incident  created  a  great  deal  of 
amusement,  and  even  old  Mrs.  Stanburne  laughed  at  it  very 
heartily.  Very  trifling  and  absurd  things  are  often  of  great 
use  in  putting  people  in  a  good  temper,  and  chasing  melan- 
choly ideas  ;  and  Mrs.  Ogden's  fancy  for  sitting  in  her  car- 
riage developed  a  wonderful  amount  of  kindly  humor  at  the 
vicarage..  Nothing  does  people  more  good  than  laughing  at 
their  neighbors,  and  they  love  their  neighbors  all  the  better 
for  having  laughed  at  them  ;  so  Mrs.  Ogden's  popularity  at 
the  vicarage  was  increased  by  this  incident,  and  I  dare  say 
it  accelerated  Mrs.  Stanburne's  recovery  in  an  appreciable, 
though  not  ascertainable,  degree. 


Chap.  XVIII.  Aloncy  on  the  Brain.  409 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

MONEY   ON   THE   BRAIN. 

IMMEDIATELY  after  the  Colonel's  return  from  France, 
Captain  Ogden  went  back  to  his  solitude  at  Twistle  Farm, 
but  his  son  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  time  with  old  Mrs.  Og- 
den at  Wenderholme.  Jacob  Ogden,  senior,  came  to  Wen- 
derholme  frequently  to  look  after  the  work-people  on  the 
estate,  but  did  not  mark  his  disapproval  of  his  nephew's  pro- 
ceedings otherwise  than  by  quietly  excluding  him  from  all 
participation  in  his  affairs.  Although  the  young  man  passed 
a  great  deal  more  time  at  Wenderholme  than  his  uncle  did,  he 
was  never  requested,  and  he  never  offered,  to  do  any  of  the 
duties  of  an  overlooker,  and  his  uncle  treated  ]  im  strictly 
upon  the  footing  of  a  visitor — a  visitor,  not  to  himself,  but 
to  his  mother.  There  is  so  much  firmness  in  the  character  of 
the  typical  Lancashire  man,  that  he  can  assume,  and  main- 
tain for  an  indefinite  length  of  time,  an  attitude  towards  a 
friend  or  relation  which  would  be  impossible  for  more  mobile 
temperaments  ;  and  young  Jacob  knew  his  uncle  well  enough 
to  be  aware  that  having  once  decided  upon  his  line  of  con- 
duct, there  was  every  probability  that  he  would  follow  it  with- 
out deviation.  Therefore,  although  young  Jacob  could  have 
made  himself  of  the  greatest  use  at  Wenderholme  without 
interfering  either  with  his  amusement  of  shooting  or  his  duti- 
ful attendance  upon  Miss  Edith,  he  paid  no  more  attention 
to  the  work-people  than  if  they  had  been  employed  by  some 
proprietor  entirely  unknown  to  him.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
add,   that  when    at    Twistle    Farm,   where   he   spent   about 


4 1  o  Wenderholme.  Part  ii. 

one  week  out  of  three,  he  never  went  near  his  uncle's  fac- 
tories. 

And  yet,  notwithstanding  the  apparent  indifference  with 
which  Jacob  Ogden  dispensed  witli  his  nephew's  services,  they 
were  more  than  ever  necessary  to  him.  The  great  factories 
at  Shayton  were  enough  of  themselves  to  absorb  the  whole 
time  of  a  very  active  master;  but,  in  addition  to  these,  Jacob 
Ogden  was  now  working  the  calico-printing  establishment  at 
Whittlecup,  which  had  formerly  belonged  to  Mr.  Joseph  Ani- 
son,  and  carrying  out  extensive  improvements,  not  only  upon 
the  Wenderholme  estate,  but  upon  many  other  properties  of 
his,  scattered  over  the  neighboring  parishes,  and  often  at 
a  considerable  distance  from  his  headquarters  at  Milend. 
Though  his  constitution  was  a  strong  one,  he  had  always 
taxed  its  strength  to  the  utmost ;  and  his  powers  were  not 
what  they  had  been,  nor  what  he  still  believed  them  to  be. 
He  might  have  gone  on  for  many  years  in  the  old  routine 
that  he  had  been  accustomed  to  —  for  a  hard-worked  man 
will  endure  labor  that  seems  beyond  his  present  strength  if 
he  merely  continues  the  habits  of  his  better  time.  But  a  man 
already  in  the  decline  of  life  cannot  add  to  his  labor  without 
danger,  if  it  is  already  excessive,  and  especially  if  the  new 
labors  require  thought  and  study  before  they  can  be  fully 
mastered.  The  improvements  at  Wenderholme,  to  an  ex- 
perienced land-owner  like  Jacob  Ogden,  required  no  new 
apprenticeship  ;  but  that  was  not  the  case  with  the  calico- 
printing  business  at  Whittlecup.  It  was  a  new  trade  that 
had  to  be  learned,  and  not  a  very  easy  trade  —  not  nearly 
so  simple  as  cotton-spinning.  He  applied  himself  to  it  with 
that  indomitable  will  and  resolution  which  had  hitherto  over- 
come every  obstacle  in  his  career,  and  he  rapidly  acquired 
the  new  knowledge  that  he  needed.  But  this  effort,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  enormous  burden  of  his  daily  work — the  daily 
work  of  a  rich  man  who  could  not  endure  to  be  robbed,  and 
would   trust  nothing  to  his  agents  —  began   to  tell  upon  his 


Chai.  XVIII.  Money  on  the  Brain.  411 

cerebral  system  in  a  peculiar  manner;  and  these  effects 
were  the  more  dangerous  that  Jacob  Ogden  had  no  concep- 
tion of  the  terrible  nature  of  the  enemy  that  was  invading 
him,  but  believed  this  enemy  might  be  conquered  by  his  will 
and  perseverance,  as  every  other  obstacle  had  been.  If  he 
had  frankly  consulted  Dr.  Bardly  on  the  appearance  of  the 
first  symptoms,  and  followed  the  advice  which  Dr.  Bardly 
would  have  given,  the  evil  would  have  been  checked  in  time  ; 
but  he  felt  a  certain  hostility  to  the  Doctor,  which  disinclined 
him  to  communications  which  he  did  not  feel  to  be  immedi- 
ately necessary  ;  and  even  if  this  could  have  been  laid  aside, 
a  man  so  wilful  as  Jacob  Ogden,  and  so  accustomed  to  look 
after  his  own  affairs,  would  scarcely  have  consented  under 
present  circumstances  to  give  up  the  management  of  his  busi- 
ness to  his  nephew,  and  retire  to  a  premature  and  inglorious 
repose. 

Hitherto  he  had  gone  through  his  work  with  great  energy, 
in  combination  with  perfect  calm.  The  energy  still  remained, 
it  even  increased;  but  the  calm  did  not  remain  —  it  was 
succeeded  by  a  perpetvfel  hurrj'  and  fever.  In  a  short  time 
after  these  symptoms  first  developed  themselves,  Jacob  Ogden 
could  not  add  up  a  column  of  figures  without  excitement ; 
when  he  came  to  the  totals  his  heart  beat  violentlv,  and  he 
began  to  make  mistakes,  which  he  perceived,  and  was  after- 
wards nervously  anxious  to  avoid.  As  his  malady  increased, 
he  could  not  open  a  letter  without  emotion,  or  sign  a  cheque 
without  a  strong  effort  of  self-control  ;  in  a  word,  the  ner- 
vous system  was  rapidly  giving  way.  And  instead  of  taking 
rtst,  which  could  alone  have  restored  him  to  health  —  rest 
at  Wenderholme  amongst  his  own  fair  fields  in  the  beautiful 
months  of  spring  —  he  persisted  and  persisted,  and  would 
not  allow  himself  to  be  beaten. 

The  people  about  him  did  not  know  any  thing  of  his  con- 
dition. He  was  more  irritable,  he  pushed  everybody  faster 
than   he   had  formerly  done,  and   he  was  constantly   moving 


4 1 2  Wenderholmc.  Part  ii. 

from  one  place  to  another ;  but  his  determination  to  control 
himself  was  so  strotig,  and  his  power  of  appearing  well  still 
so  considerable,  that  such  people  as  Mrs.  Ogden  and  young 
Jacob  (imaccustomed  as  they  both  were  to  that  kind  of  suffer- 
ing, and  incapable  of  imagining  it)  had  not  the  most  distant 
suspicion  that  he  had  become  unfit  for  work.  Indeed,  al- 
though an  experienced  London  .physician,  who  had  made 
brain  disease  his  particular  study,  would  no  doubt  have  seen 
at  a  glance  that  this  was  a  case  which  needed  the  most 
watchful  care,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  a  country  practi- 
tioner (even  so  clever,  naturally,  as  Dr.  Bardly)  would  have 
warned  Jacob  Ogden  in  time. 

The  overtasked  brain  translated  its  own  dangerous  condi- 
tion by  anxiety,  and  the  anxiety  was  not  about  health,  but,  as 
often  happens  in  such  instances,  about  that  subject  which  had 
most  occupied  the  patient's  mind  before  the  approaches  of 
disease  —  namely,  money.  With  all  his  riches,  Jacob  Ogden 
grew  more  nervously  anxious  about  money  matters  than  the 
poorest  laborer  on  his  estate.  His  mind  ran  incessantly  upon 
possible  causes  of  loss  ;  and  as  in  th^  best-regulated  property 
such  causes  are  always  infinitely  numerous,  he  found  them 
only  too  easily.  The  thousands  of  details  which,  when  in 
health,  he  had  carried  in  his  head  as  lightly  as  we  carry 
the  words  of  a  thoroughly  mastered  language,  began  to  tor- 
ment him  with  the  apprehension  that  they  might  escape  his 
memory  ;  and  whereas,  in  his  better  days,  no  fact  troubled 
him  except  just  at  the  moment  wlien  he  wanted  it,  they  now 
importunately  intruded  upon  his  mind  when  they  could  only 
disturb  and  confuse  it. 

At  length,  as  his  disease  advanced  towards  its  sure  and  ter- 
rible development,  the  anxiety,  which  was  the  form  it  had 
taken,  and  the  mental  hurry  and  worry  which  accompanied 
it,  arrived  at  such  a  pitch  that  the  least  delicate  and  acute 
observers  remarked  it  in  Jacob  Ogden's  face.  His  mother 
earnestly  entreated  him  not  to  torment  himself  so  much  abovu 


Chap.  XVIII.  Moucy  Oil  the  Brain.  413 

Iiis  affairs,  but  to  take  a  partner,  and  allow  himself  more  rest. 
The  advice  came  too  late.  The  tender  cells  of  the  cerebrum 
were  in  a  state  of  fevered  disturbance,  which  must  now  inevi- 
tably lead  to  one  of  the  forms  of  madness. 

It  broke  out  one  night  at  VVenderholme.  He  toiled  till 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  alone,  at  his  accounts.  There 
was  nothing  in  them  which  he  would  not  have  mastered  quite 
easily  when  in  health,  but  the  condition  of  his  brain  had  led 
to  many  errors,  and  the  attempt  to  correct  these  had  only  in- 
creased and  multiplied  them.  He  toiled  and  toiled  till  his 
brain  could  no  longer  stand  the  confusion,  and  he  went  mad. 

First  there  came  a  sense  of  strangeness  to  every  thing  about 
him,  and  then  a  wild  alarm  —  a  terror  such  as  he  had  never 
known  !  For  a  few  minutes  Reason  fiercely  struggled  to  keep 
her  seat,  and  would  not  be  dispossessed.  Those  minutes 
were  the  most  fearful  the  man  had  ever  passed  through.  He 
sprang  from  his  place,  and  paced  the  room  from  wall  to  wall 
in  violent  agitation.  "  I  'm  very  ill,"  he  thought ;  "  I  cannot 
tell  what 's  the  matter  with  me.  I  believe  I  'm  going  to  have 
a  fit.  No,  it  isn't  that  —  it  isn't  that;  I  know  what  it  is  —  I 
know  now  —  /';«  going  mad /" 

No  visible  external  foe  can  ever  be  so  terrible  as  the  mys- 
terious internal  avengers.  They  come  upon  us  we  know  not 
when  nor  where.  They  come  when  the  doors  are  locked,  the 
mansion  guarded,  and  all  the  household  sleeps.  They  come 
in  their  terrible  invisibility,  like  devils  taking  possession. 
The  strokes  of  mortal  disease  are  dealt  mysteriously  within  ; 
and  who  would  not  rather  meet  a  body  of  armed  savages  than 
invisible  apoplexy  or  paralysis  ? 

For  five  minutes  Ogden  wrestled  with  his  invisible  enemy. 
"  I  will  not  go  mad,"  he  cried  aloud  —  "I  will  not !  " 

And  a  minute  afterwards  the  struggle  ceased,  and  he  was 
another  being,  mad  beyond  hope  of  recover}'. 

A  strange  smile  came  over  his  face,  and  he  pressed  his 
hand  upon  his  forehead.     •'  I  '11  dodge  them  yet."  he  said  ; 


4T4  Wender holme.  Part  ii. 

"they  aren't  as  sharp  as  I  am.     I'm  sharper  than  the  best 
of  them  !  " 

He  began  to  count  the  jnoney  in  his  purse.  It  was  not 
much  —  five  pounds  eighteen  exactly.  He  counted  the  sum 
quite  correctly,  over  and  over  again  ;  then  he  looked  anxiously 
about  for  a  place  to  hide  it  in.  Whilst  he  was  doing  this,  his 
mother,  who  had  felt  anxious  about  him  all  night,  and  had 
been  unable  to  sleep,  came  to  his  room-door  and  listened. 
She  heard  him  walking  about  and  muttering  to  himself. 
Then  she  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

He  concealed  his  purse  cunningly,  and  placed  himself  be- 
tween the  intruder  and  its  hiding-place. 

"Jacob,"  she  said,  "you  ought  to  be  in  bed  ;  why  are  you 
up  like  that?     It 's  three  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

He  began  to  talk  very  rapidly.  He  knew  his  mother  per- 
fectly well.  "  Mother,"  he  said,  "  when  bailiffs  comes  you 
willn't  tell  'em  where  I  have  hid  my  brass  ;  see,  I  've  hidden 
it  here,  but  you  willn't  tell  'em,  mother.-"'  And  then  he 
lifted  up  a  corner  of  the  carpet  and  showed  his  little  purse. 

Mrs.  Ogden  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  "  Our  Jacob  's 
crazed,"  she  said  to  herself  —  "our  Jacob  's  gone  crazed  !  " 

She  felt  too  weak  to  remain  standing,  and  sat  down,  never 
taking  her  eyes  off  him.  He  put  the  purse  back,  and  covered 
it  again  with  great  care.  Then  he  took  his  memorandum- 
book,  and  seemed  to  be  making  an  entry. 

"  Let  me  look  at  that  book,"  Mrs.  Ogden  said. 

It  was  as  she  had  feared.  The  entry  was  a  hopelessly 
illegible  jumble  of  unmeaning  lines  and  figures. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  go  to  bed? " 

"Go  to  bed,  mother  —  not  if  I  know  it!"  He  said  this 
with  a  smile  of  intense  cunning,  and  then  added,  confiden- 
tially, "The  bailiffs  are  comin'  to-morrow,  and  Baron  Roths- 
child has  bought  all  my  property,  a  large  price,  a  million  ster- 
ling—  a  million  sterling;  it's  Jiaron  Rothsciiild  that  i^oiight 
it,  mother,  for  a  million  sterling!  " 


Chap.  XVIII.  Moiicy  Oil  the  Brain.  4 1 5 

The  poor  old  woman  burst  into  tears.  "O  Jacob!"  she 
said,  "  I  wisli  you  wouldn't  talk  so !  " 

"Why,  mother,"  he  replied,  with  an  injured  air,  and  a  look 
of  intense  penetration,  "you  know  well  enough  what  I  failed 
for.  I  never  should  have  failed  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that 
Sootythorn  Bank ;  but  they  came  to  borrow  money  of  me  at 
Milend,  and  I  took  up  shares  for  a  hundred  thousand,  and 
then  the  smash  came,  and  I  failed.  But  never  you  mind, 
mother.  Baron  Rothschild  bought  my  estates  for  a  million 
sterling.  That  shows  I  was  a  millionnaire.  Doesn't  it, 
mother  ?  for  if  I  hadn't  been  worth  a  million,  Baron  Roths- 
child wouldn't  have  given  a  million  for  my  property.  He 
vvilln't  give  more  for  property  than  what  it's  worth." 

"  O  Jacob  !  you  do  make  me  miserable  with,  talking  so." 

She  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  him.  Young  Jacob  and 
her  son  Isaac  were  both  at  Twistle  Farm.  At  last  she  thought 
of  Colonel  Stanburne,  who  was  staying  at  Wenderholme  Cot- 
tage. She  left  her  son  for  a  few  minutes,  and  sent  a  messen- 
ger for  the  Colonel.  On  returning  to  Jacob's  room,  she  found 
him  busy  counting  his  money  over  again.  He  had  taken  the 
purse  from  its  hiding-place. 

The  strength  of  her  own  nervous  system  was  such  that 
she  bore  even  this  appalling  event  with  firmness.  She 
was  grieved  beyond  power  of  expression,  but  she  was  not 
overcome. 

Happily  there  was  no  violence  in  Jacob  Ogden's  madness ; 
he  was  not  in  the  least  dangerous.  He  simply  kept  repeat- 
ing that  story  about  his  supposed  failure,  which  he  always 
attributed  to  the  Sootythorn  Bank,  and  the  purchase  of  his 
property  by  Baron  Rothschild.  When  the  Colonel  came,  he 
told  him  the  same  story  in  the  same  words. 

"You  are  mistaken  on  one  point,"  the  Colonel  said.  "It 
was  I,  Colonel  Stanburne,  who  was  ruined  by  the  failure  of 
the  Sootythorn  Bank,  not  you.  You  were  never  ruined.  You 
purchased  W'enderholme." 


4i6  WendcrJiolme.  Part  ii 

Mr.  Ogden  looked  at  him  with  the  air  of  a  professional 
man  when  a  layman  has  advanced  something  which  he  knows 
to  be  absurd.  Then  he  shook  his  head,  and  repeated  the 
story  about  Baron  Rothschild. 

The  Colonel  kindly  remained  with  him  till  morning,  and 
bravely  watched  him  through  the  dreary  hours.  A  messenger 
had  been  despatched  on  horseback  to  Twistle  Farm  and  to 
Dr.  Bardly.  Isaac  Ogden  and  his  son  were  at  Wenderholme 
by  breakfast-time,  and  the  Doctor's  brougham  drove  up  very 
shortly  afterwards. 

Dr.  Bardly  tried  to  be  encouraging.  "  He  has  been  work- 
ing too  much,"  he  said,  "  and  made  himself  too  anxious  ;  he 
may  get  round  again  with  rest  and  care.  Give  him  good 
roast-meat  and  plenty  of  physical  work." 

But  about  ten  o'clock  Jacob  Ogden  became  anxious  to 
quit  Wenderholme,  being  full  of  apprehension  about  the  bail- 
iffs. "  Better  let  him  have  his  own  way,"  said  the  Doctor  ; 
so  he  was  taken  to  Milend. 

At  Milend,  however,  there  were  other  causes  of  anxiety. 
Th'e  bailiffs  tormented  him  at  Wenderholme ;  the  idea  of 
Baron  Rothschild  haunted  him  at  Milend. 

The  experiment  was  tried  of  showing  him  the  factory  and 
the  counting-house,  but  with  most  discouraging  results.  The 
factory  produced  a  degree  of  excitement  which,  if  continued, 
would  probably  lead  to  madness  of  an  aggravated  and  far 
more  dangerous  kind. 

Specialists  were  telegraphed  for  from  Manchester  and  from 
London,  and  a  consultation  was  held.  They  agreed  that  the 
patient  must  be  kept  out  of  the  way  of  every  thing  that  might 
remind  him  of  his  former  career,  recommending  extreme  tran- 
quillity, good  but  simple  diet,  and  as  much  physical  exercise 
as  the  patient  could  be  induced  to  take. 

These  might  be  had  conveniently  in  Mrs.  Ogden's  favorite 
little  farm,  the  Cream-pot.  It  was  situated  in  a  glen  or  clough, 
out  of  sight  of  the  Shaylon  factory-chimneys. 


Chai>.  x\  III.  Money  on  the  Brain.  417 

So  the  old  lady  went  there  to  live  with  her  afiflicted  son. 
She  could  manage  him  better  than  anybody  else,  and  he  was 
never  dangerous. 

After  a  time,  a  happy  discovery  was  made.  He  counted 
the  money  in  his  purse  several  times  a-day,  and  Mrs.  Ogden 
told  him  that  if  he  would  dig  their  little  garden,  she  would 
pay  him  wages.  He  seized  upon  this  idea  with  great  joy  and 
eagerness,  and  she  paid  him  a  sovereign  on  the  Saturday 
night.  The  week  following  he  worked  very  hard,  and  counted 
the  days,  and  spoke  of  his  anticipated  earnings  with  delight. 
So  his  mother  paid  him  another  sovereign,  and  ever  after- 
wards this  became  the  rule,  and  she  employed  him  at  a  pound 
a- week. 

He  kept  all  the  sovereigns  in  his  purse,  and  they  were  his 
joy  and  treasure.  His  physical  health  became  excellent,  and 
though  his  intellect  gave  no  hope  of  restoration,  his  days 
passed  not  unhappily.  His  mother  tended  him  with  the  most 
touching  devotion,  and  a  self-sacrifice  so  absolute  that  she 
ceased  to  visit  her  friends,  and  abandoned  all  the  little  amuse- 
ments and  varieties  of  her  life. 

a? 


4 1 8  Wender holme.  Part  ii. 


T 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   COLONEL  AT   STANITHBURN. 


HE  long  illness  and  slow  convalescence  of  Mrs.  Stan- 


burne,  and  the  deplorable  mental  affliction  which  fell 
upon  Jacob  Ogden,  and  threw  a  cloud  of  lasting  sadness  over 
the  whole  Ogden  family,  produced  long  delays  in  the  projects 
of  young  Jacob  and  Edith,  and  were  the  cause  of  much 
indecision  on  the  part  of  the  Colonel  and  Lady  Helena. 
Mrs.  Stanburne  returned  to  Wenderholnie  Cottage  in  the 
earliest  days  of  spring,  but  the  Colonel  and  his  wife  had 
already  stayed  there  for  many  weeks,  being  anxious  not  to 
abuse  the  kind  hospitality  of  the  vicarage.  The  vicar's  sen- 
timents when  they  left  him  were  of  a  mixed  kind.  He  was 
glad,  and  he  was  sorry.  In  his  gladness  there  was  no  selfish 
calculation  —  the  Stanburnes  were  welcome  to  every  thing 
he  could  offer  them ;  but  in  his  warm  approval  of  Lady 
Helena's  conduct  towards  the  Colonel,  he  had  been  a  little 
too  demonstrative  to  be  quite  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Prigley,  and 
therefore  Mrs.  Prigley  had  thought  it  incumbent  upon  her, 
as  a  British  matron  of  unspotted  virtue,  to  make  his  life  as 
miserable  as  she  could.  Mrs.  Ogden,  too,  had  inflamed  Mrs. 
Prigley's  jealousy  in  another  way  by  coming  and  nursing  Mrs. 
Stanburne.  What  right  had  one  of  those  "  nasty  Ogdens  " 
to  come  and  nurse  Mrs.  Stanburne  ?  Mrs.  Prigley  looked 
upon  the  invalid  as  exclusively  her  own  property.  Edith, 
being  young  and  insignificant,  might  sit  a  little  with  her 
grandmother  —  but  Mrs.  Ogden! 

If  Lady  '  lelena  had   not  come  just  in  time  to  take  upon 


Chap.  XIX.       The  Coloiiel  at  Stanithburn.  419 

herself  a  good  deal  of  this  now  inflamed  and  awakened 
jealousy,  the  consequence  would  have  been  that  poor  Mr. 
Prigley  would  have  incurred  grave  suspicions  of  an  amorous 
intrigue  with  the  old  lady  of  Milend  ;  but  as  Lady  Helena 
was  younger  than  Mrs.  Prigley,  and  Mrs.  Ogden  a  good  deal 
her  senior,  the  vicaress  paid  her  husband  the  compliment  of 
believing  that  he  had  placed  his  sinful  affections  on  the  more 
eligible  of  the  two  ladies.  So  soon,  therefore,  as  she  had 
ascertained  to  her  own  satisfaction  the  culpability  of  the 
guilty  pair  (and  when  the  commonest  politeness  was  evi- 
dence, proofs  were  not  far  to  seek),  the  vicaress  treated  her 
ladyship  with  the  haughty  coldness  which  is  the  proper  behav- 
ior of  a  virtuous  and  injured  woman  towards  her  sinful  rival, 
and  she  treated  her  husband  as  his  abominable  wickedness 
deserved.  In  a  word,  she  made  life  utterly  insupportable 
for  Mr.  Prigley. 

Lady  Helena  saw  the  true  situation  of  affairs  before  the 
parson  did  (for  he  in  his  masculine  simplicity  attributed 
his  wife's  behavior  to  any  cause  but  the  right  one),  and  she 
migrated  at  once  to  the  Cottage  with  the  Colonel.  When 
Mrs.  Stanburne  was  well  enough  to  bear  the  removal,  she 
was  brought  back  to  her  old  house,  and  continued  steadily  to 
improve.  Still  her  health  was  far  from  being  strong  enough 
to  make  the  idea  of  leaving  her  an  admissible  one,  so  the 
Colonel  and  Lady  Helena  remained  at  Wenderholme  a  long 
time.  Young  Jacob  came  frequently  to  see  Edith,  but  the 
marriage,  though  now  agreed  upon  by  all  parties,  was  indefi- 
nitely postponed. 

Whilst  matters  were  in  this  state  of  suspension,  the  relation 
between  Mr.  Jacob  Ogden  and  his  family  had  to  be  legally 
settled.  His  brother  Isaac  received  the  factories  and  estates, 
in  trust,  conjointly  with  his  mother,  with  the  usufruct  thereof, 
;^5oo  a-year  being  set  aside  for  the  patient's  maintenance. 
On  account  of  the  urgency  of  the  situation,  but  much  against 
^the  grain  of  his  now  acquired  habits,  Mr.  Isaac  Ogden  quilted 


420  WcnderJiolme.  Part  it. 

his  solitude  at  Twistle  Farm,  and  resumed,  at  Milend,  the  life 
of  a  cotton-manufacturer,  in  partnership  with  his  son. 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Stanburne's  position  was,  from  the 
financial  point  of  view,  any  thing  but  brilliant.  He  had  no 
income,  after  paying  the  allowance  to  his  mother,  except  a 
share  in  the  ;^3oo  a-year  remaining  to  his  wife.  He  was 
anxious  to  return  to  France  and  resume  the  humble  profes- 
sion which  he  had  found  for  himself  there.  Lady  Helena 
said  that  wherever  he  went  she  would  go  too,  and  nothing 
but  the  slowness  of  Mrs.  Stanburne's  recovery  prevented 
them  from  leaving  England. 

They  were  in  this  state  —  being,  as  things  in  life  often  are, 
in  a  sort  of  temporary  but  indefinite  lull  and  calm  —  when  an 
event  occurred  which  produced  the  most  important  changes. 

Mr.  John  Stedman  being  on  a  visit  to  his  friend  at  Stanith- 
burn  Peel,  took  one  of  his  customary  long  walks  amongst  the 
wild  rocky  hills  in  that  neighborhood,  and  was  caught  —  not 
for  the  first  time  —  in  a  sudden  storm  of  rain.  By  the  time 
the  storm  was  over  he  was  wet  through,  but  being  interested 
in  the  search  for  a  plant,  went  on  wandering  till  rather  late 
in  the  evening.  If  he  had  kept  constantly  in  movement  it  is 
probable  that  no  harm  would  have  resulted  from  this  little 
imprudence,  but  unfortunately  he  found  the  plant  he  was  in 
search  of,  and  this  led  him  to  do  a  little  botanical  anatomy 
with  a  microscope  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket.  Absoibed 
in  this  occupation,  he  sat  down  on  the  bare  rock,  and  forgot 
the  minutes  as  they  passed.  He  spent  more  than  an  liour  in 
this  way,  and  rose  from  his  task  with  a  feeling  of  chill,  and 
a  slight  shiver,  which,  however,  disappeared  when  his  pedes- 
trian exercise  was  resumed.  On  returning  to  the  Peel  he 
thought  no  more  of  the  matter,  and  ate  a  hearty  dinner, 
sitting  rather  late  afterwards  with  Philip  Stanburne,  and 
drinking  more  than  his  usual  allowance  of  brandy-and-water. 
The  next  day  he  did  not  go  out,  and  towards  evening  com- 
plained of  a  slight  pain  or  embarrassment  in  the  chest.      The 


Chap.  XIX.        The  Coloiiel  at  Stanithburn.  421 

symptoms  gradually  became  alarming,  a  doctor  was  sent  for, 
and  Mr.  Stedman's  illness  was  discovered  to  be  a  congestion 
of  both  lungs. 

Of  this  malady  he  died.  In  his  will,  after  various  legacies, 
liberal  but  not  excessive,  to  all  the  poor  people  who  were  his 
relations,  and  the  relations  of  his  deceased  wife,  he  named 
"  his  dear  friend  and  son,  Philip  Stanburne,"  residuary  lega- 
tee, "  both  in  token  of  his  own  friendship  and  gratitude 
towards  the  said  Philip  Stanburne,  and  also  because  in 
making  this  bequest  the  testator  believes  that  he  is  beat 
fulfilling  the  wishes  of  his  beloved  daughter,  Alice." 

But,  notwithstanding  John  Stedman's  affectionate  friend- 
ship for  the  man  whom  Alice  had  loved,  there  still  remained 
in  him  much  of  the  resolution  of  a  stalwart  enemy  of  Rome, 
and  the  resolution  dictated  a  certain  codicil  written  not  long 
before  his  death.  In  this  codicil  he  provided  that,  "in  case 
the  said  Philip  Stanburne  should  enter  any  order  of  the 
Church  of  Rome,  whether  secular  or  ecclesiastical,  or  endow 
the  said  Church  of  Rome  with  any  portion  of  his  wealth, 
then  the  foregoing  will  and  testament  should  be  void,  and  of 
none  effect.  And  further,  that  the  said  Philip  Stanburne 
should  solemnly  promise  never  to  give  or  bequeath  to  the 
Church  of  Rome  any  portion  of  this  bequest,  and  in  case  of 
his  refusal  to  make  such  promise,"  the  money  should  be  dis- 
posed of  as  we  will  now  explain. 

The  testator  proceeded  to  affirm  that  it  was  still  his  desire 
to  leave  part  of  his  property  in  such  a  manner  as  to  testify 
his  gratitude  to  Philip  Stanburne  ;  and  therefore,  if  the  latter 
took  orders  in  the  Church  of  Rome,  Mr.  Stedman's  bequest 
should  still  pass  to  a  person  of  the  name  of  Stanburne,  but 
professing  the  Protestant  religion  —  namely,  to  John  Stan- 
burne, formerly  of  Wenderholme.  In  this  case,  however, 
a  large  deduction  would  be  made  from  the  legacy  in  favor  of 
an  intimate  friend  of  the  testator,  Joseph  Anison,  formerly 
of  Arkwright  Lodge,  near  Whittlecup.     All  this  was  set  forth 


42  2  W en der holme.  Tart  ii. 

A^ilh  that  minute  and  tedious  detail  which  is  necessary,  or  is 
supposed  to  be  necessary,  in  every  legal  document. 

Now  for  several  years  past  Philip  Stanburne  had  been 
firmly  resolved,  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Stedman  (which  would 
release  him  from  his  promise  to  Alice),  to  enter  a  monastic 
order  remarkable  for  industry  and  simplicity  of  life,  founded 
by  llie  celebrated  Father  Muard,  but  since  affiliated  to  the 
Benedictines  ;  and  it  was  a  suspicion  of  this  resolve,  or  per- 
haps more  than  a  suspicion,  which  had  dictated  Mr.  Sted- 
man's  codicil.  The  will  made  no  difference  in  Philip  Stan- 
burne's  plans,  and  he  was  delighted  that  the  Colonel  should 
inherit  what  would  probably  turn  out  to  be  a  fortune.  When 
the  question  was  formally  put  to  him,  he  affirmed  his  intention 
of  being  a  monk  of  La  Pierre  qui  Vire. 

In  consequence  of  this  declaration,  the  codicil  took  effect. 
The  factory  in  Sootythorn,  the  house  at  Chesnut  Hill,  and  a 
capital  sum  of  ;^2o,ooo,  went  to  Mr.  Joseph  Anison  ;  but 
even  after  all  the  legacies  to  poor  relations,  there  still  re- 
mained a  residue  of  ;/J"35,ooo,  which  passed  directly  to  the 
Colonel.  Mr.  Stedman  had  been  much  richer  than  any  one 
believed,  and  his  fortune,  already  considerable  in  the  lifetime 
of  his  daughter,  had  doubled  since  her  death. 

Philip  Stanburne,  who  had  been  occasionally  to  Wender- 
holme  since  the  Colonel's  return,  to  inquire  after  Mrs,  Stan- 
burne, and  pass  an  hour  or  two  with  an  old  friend,  now  pro- 
posed to  sell  him  Stanithburn  Peel.  "  It  would  make  me 
miserable,"  he  said,  "  to  sell  it  to  anybody  else,  but  to  you 
it 's  different.     Buy  it,  and  go  to  live  there." 

But  he  did  not  really  sell  the  Peel  itself.  He  sold  the 
land,  and  gave  the  strong  old  tower.  The  place  was  valued 
by  friends,  mutually  appointed,  who  received  a  hint  from 
Philip  that  they  were  not  to  count  the  Peel.  The  Colonel 
knew  nothing  about  this,  but  gave  ;^2o,ooo  for  the  estate, 
and  invested  the  remainder  of  his  capital  in  something  better 
ihan  the  Sootythorn  Bank. 


Chap.  XIX.      The  Colonel  at  Stanitlibtim.  423 

As  Mrs.  Stanburne  was  now  well  enough  to  be  left,  the 
Colonel  and  Lady  Helena  set  off  one  fine  day  for  Stanith- 
burn.  The  Peel  had  been  admirably  restored,  though  with 
great  moderation,  in  Philip  Stanburne's  quiet  and  persevering 
way,  and  all  its  incongruities  and  anachronisms  had  been 
removed.  When  they  came  to  the  front  door,  who  should 
open  it  but  —  Fyser  ! 

"  Please,  sir,"  he  said,  "  would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  take  me 
on  again  ?  " 

The  Colonel  said  not  a  word  in  answer,  but  he  gave  honest 
Fyser's  hand  such  a  shake  that  it  was  perfectly  natural  the 
tears  should  come  into  his  eyes.  The  tears  would  come  into 
anybody's  eyes  if  his  hand  was  squeezed  like  that. 

Whilst  her  ladyship  went  to  take  her  things  off,  Fyser  said, 
"  Would  you  like  to  step  this  way,  sir  ? "  The  Colonel  fol- 
lowed obediently. 

"  This  will  be  your  den,  I  suppose,  sir,  unless  you  would 
like  to  have  it  in  another  part  of  the  'ouse." 

John  Stanburne  felt  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  There  was 
every  scrap  of  his  old  den-furniture  in  the  place.  Philip 
Stanburne  had  bought  it  all  at  the  Wenderholme  sale  —  every 
atom  of  it,  even  to  his  old  boot-jack.  And  as  Mr.  Fyser  had 
had  the  arrangement  of  it,  you  may  be  sure  that  it  was  in  the 
old  convenient  and  accustomed  order. 

But  the  Colonel  and  Lady  Helena  were  still  more  surprised 
to  find  in  the  principal  rooms  of  the  house  various  cabinets 
and  other  things  of  value  which  had  formerly  been  at  Wender- 
holme, and  especially  a  museum  of  family  relics  which  had 
occupied  the  centre  of  the  great  hall.  In  these  cabinets  and 
cases  little  plates  of  silver  were  discovered,  on  examination, 
to  be  inlaid,  and  each  of  these  little  plates  was  engraved  with 
the  inscription,  "  Presented  to  Colonel  Stanburne  by  the  Offi- 
cers of  the  Twentieth  Royal  Lancashire  Militia." 

The  regiment  happened  to  be  just  then  up  for  its  annual 
training  under  a  major-commanding,  no  new  colonel  having 


4 -'4  Wc7ider holme.  Tart  ii. 

as  yet  been  appointed.  And  one  day  tliere  came  rather  a 
solemn  deputation  of  officers  to  Stanithburn  Peel,  all  in  full 
uniform. 

The  spokesman  of  the  deputation  was  our  old  acquaintance, 
Captain  Eureton.  He  began  by  informing  Colonel  Stanburne 
that,  although  the  lieutenant-colonelcy  had  been  offered  to 
the  senior  major,  he  had  begged  the  lord-lieutenant  to  permit 
him  to  remain  at  the  head  of  the  regiment  as  major-command- 
ing ;  and  that  now  he  and  all  the  officers  unanimously  joined 
in  entreating  Colonel  Stanburne  to  withdraw  his  resignation, 
and  resume  his  old  position  amongst  them.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  earnestness  and  sincerity  of  this  petition,  and 
John  Stanburne  consented.  He  was  received  at  Sootythorn 
at  a  great  banquet  given  by  the  officers  just  before  the  dis- 
banding of  the  regiment ;  and  at  the  review  which  concluded 
th3  training,  it  was  John  Stanburne  who  commanded. 


Chap.  XX.  A  Simple  Wedding.  425 


CHAPTER   XX. 

A   SIMPLE   WEDDING. 

"  T  COULD  so  like  to  go  to  little  Jacob  weddin'/'  said  Mrs. 
-I-  Osden  one  dav  in  her  little  home  at  the  Cream-pot,  "  but 
I  'm  like  as  if  I  were  'feard  to  leave  our  Jacob  for  one  single 
day.  He  's  just  same  as  a  childt,  an'  to-morrow  's  his  pay-day, 
an'  I  couldn't  like  anybody  else  to  pay  him  his  week's  wage. 
But  what  I  suppose  they  '11  be  just  as  w-ell  wed  as  if  I  'd  been 
there,  for  that  matter." 

It  seems  to  us  quite  a  pity  that  Mrs.  Ogden  could  not  con- 
trive to  be  at  Wenderholme  church  on  the  wedding-day,  for 
she  would  have  been  well  received  by  Mrs.  Stanburne  at  the 
breakfast  given  by  that  lady  at  Wenderholme  Cottage,  but 
ever  since  "  our  Jacob  misfortin' "  no  power  on  earth  could 
ger  her  away  from  the  Cream-pot,  and  all  reasoning  on  the 
subject  was  trouble  thrown  away.  Little  Jacob's  wedding- 
day  passed  like  all  other  monotonous  days  for  Mrs.  Ogden, 
so  far  as  action  or  variety  was  cqncerned,  but  she  thought  of 
him  from  morning  till  night.  As  for  the  elder  Jacob,  he  tran- 
quilly pursued  his  digging  in  the  garden,  looking  forward  with 
eager  anticipation  to  the  payment  of  his  week's  wages  on  the 
same  evening,  for  he  had  some  consciousness  of  the  lapse  of 
time,  especially  towards  the  close  of  the  week.  On  Thurs- 
days he  began  to  ask  if  it  were  not  Saturday,  on  Fridays  the 
question  became  frequent,  and  on  Saturday  itself  his  mother 
had  to  promise  a  hundred  times  that  she  would  pay  his  wages 
at  six  o'clock.  His  old  habits  of  energy  and  perseverance 
were  still  visible  in  his  daily  work.     He  labored  conscien- 


426  We7ider holme.  Part  il, 

tiously  to  make  the  garden  produce  as  much  as  spade  labor 
could  do  for  it,  he  carefully  economized  every  inch  of  ground, 
and  did  all  that  mere  physical  labor  could  for  its  advantage. 
On  the  other  hand,  wherever  the  intelligence  of  a  gardener 
was  necessary,  his  shattered  intellect  was  constantly  at  fault, 
and  he  committed  the  wildest  havoc.  He  rooted  up  the  gar- 
den-flowers as  weeds,  and  could  only  recognize  one  or  two  of 
the  most  familiar  and  most  jiroductive  plants.  He  knew  the 
carrot,  for  e.xample,  and  the  potato,  and  these  he  cultivated 
in  his  own  strange  way.  His  mother  sacrificed  the  litile 
Cream-pot  garden  to  him  entirely,  and  got  the  vegetables  for 
house  use  from  Milend,  and  the  fruit  from  Wenderholme, 
so  that  he  could  destroy  or  cultivate  at  his  own  absoiute  will 
and  pleasure,  and  this  he  did  with  the  cunning  and  self-satis- 
faction of  the  insane. 

The  evening  of  that  day  when  little  Jacob  was  married,  his 
grandmother  had  a  new  idea  about  her  afiflicted  son.  "Ja- 
cob," she  said  to  him  when  the  time  for  payment  came,  and 
his  eyes  were  glistening  as  he  clutched  the  golden  coin, 
'•  Jacob,  thou  shouldn't  let  thy  money  lie  by  same  as  that 
without  gettin'  interest  for  it.  There  's  twenty  pound  in  thy 
purse  by  this.  Lend  me  thy  twenty  pound,  an'  I  '11  give  thee 
five  per  cent,  that  '11  make  a  pound  a-year  interest  for  thee." 

When  the  magical  word  "  interest "  sounded  in  his  ear  for 
the  first  time  since  the  break-down  of  his  mental  faculties, 
uncle  Jacob's  face  assumed  a  look  of  intelligence  which  star- 
tled his  mother  and  gave  her  a  gleam  of  hope.  "  Interest, 
interest !  "  he  said,  and  paused  as  if  lost  in  thought  ;  then  he 
added,  "  Compound  interest !  doubles  up,  compound  interest, 
doubles  up  fast !  "  These  words,  however,  must  have  been 
mere  reminiscences  of  his  former  state,  for  he  proved  utterly 
incapable  of  understanding  the  nature  of  even  simple  interest 
as  a  weekly  payment.  Mrs.  Ogden  offered  him  sixpence  as 
a  week's  interest  for  his  money,  but  he  asked  for  a  sovereign, 
being  accustomed  to  weekly  payments  of  one  pound,  and  he 


Chap.  XX.  A  Simple  Wedding.  427 

seemed  troubled  and  irritated  when  it  was  not  given  to  him. 
He  understood  the  pound  a  week  for  his  digging,  but  he 
could  not  grasp  any  more  complicated  idea.  His  constant 
secret  occupation,  when  not  at  work,  was  to  handle  his  accu- 
mulating sovereigns.  In  this  way,  notwithstanding  his  insan- 
ity and  his  incapability  of  imagining  the  great  fortune  he  had 
heaped  up  when  in  health,  he  enjoyed  money  as  much  as 
ever,  for  the  mere  quantity  has  really  very  little  to  do  with  the 
delight  of  the  passion  of  avarice.  It  is  the  increase  which  gives 
delight,  not  the  quantity,  and  Jacob  Ogden's  private  store 
was  incessantly  increasing,  so  much  indeed  that  his  mother 
had  to  give  him  a  money-box.  When  the  weekly  sovereigns 
became  numerous,  he  was  incapable  of  counting  them,  but  he 
had  a  certain  sense  of  quantity  and  a  keen  satisfaction  in  the 
evident  increase  of  his  store. 

Little  Jacob's  marriage  was  strangely  simple,  considering 
the  wealth  of  one  of  the  two  families  and  the  station  of  the 
other;  but  the  elder  Jacob's  condition,  and  recent  events  in 
the  life  of  Colonel  Stanburne,  had  so  sobered  everybody  that 
there  was  not  the  slightest  desire  on  either  side  for  any 
demonstration  or  display.  As  it  concerned  Lady  Helena, 
this  simplicity  was  not  displeasing  to  her,  for  reasons  of  her 
own.  She  was  glad,  in  her  own  mind,  that  Mrs.  Ogden  did 
not  come,  for  she  keenly  dreaded  the"  old  lady's  strange  say- 
ings on  a  semi-public  occasion  like  the  present,  and  the  privacy 
of  the  marriage  was  a  good  excuse  for  not  inviting  many  of 
her  own  noble  friends.  The  bridesmaids  were  the  Prigley 
girls  and  a  young  sister  of  Lady  Helena.  Mr.  Prigley  per- 
formed the  ceremony,  and  there  was  not  a  stranger  in  the 
little  Wenderholme  church,  except  a  reporter  for  the  "  Sooty- 
thorn  Gazette,"  who  furnished  a  brilliant  account  of  this  "  mar- 
riage in  high  life,"  which  we  have  no  disposition  to  quote. 

If  Mrs.  Ogden  had  chosen  to  bring  to  bear  upon  poor 
Edith  all  the  weight  of  her  terrible  critical  power  as  a  su- 
preme judge  of  housekeeping  accomplishments,  I  am  afraid 


428  Winder  holme.  Taui  i 

that  the  young  lady  would  have  come  out  of  the  ordeal  igno- 
niiniously  for  she  could  neither  darn  a  stocking  properly  not 
make  a  potato-pie,  but  criticism  is  often  mollified  by  per- 
sonal favor  and  partiality;  and  the  old  lady  never  goes  far- 
ther in  the  severity  of  censure  than  to  say,  "  Little  Jacob 
wife  is  not  much  of  a  housekeeper,  but  she  was  never  brought 
up  to  it  you  know  ;  and  they  '11  have  plenty  to  live  upon,  so 
it  willn't  matter  so  much  as  it  would  'ave  done  if  they  'd  been 
poorer  people." 

Poverty  is  certainly  not  the  evil  which  the  young  couple 
need  apprehend,  for  the  condition  of  Jacob  Ogden  the  elder 
being  considered  permanent,  a  judicial  decision  transferred 
his  income  to  his  brother  Isaac,  after  deducting  ;^i,ooo  a  year 
for  his  maintenance,  which  was  paid  to  his  mother ;  an  en- 
tirely superfluous  formality,  as  she  accumulated  the  whole  of 
it  for  her  grandson,  and  kept  Jacob  Ogden  well  supplied 
with  all  that  he  needed,  or  had  intelligence  to  desire,  out  of 
her  own  little  independent  fortune.  Isaac  Ogden  was  now 
charged  with  the  management  of  the  business  and  estates. 
It  then  became  apparent  how  splendidly  successful  the  life 
of  the  cotton-manufacturer  had  been.  At  the  time  of  the 
opening  of  this  history,  he  was  already  earning,  or  rather 
neiiing,  since  the  operatives  earned  it  for  him,  an  income  lar- 
ger than  the  salary  of  a  Prime  Minister,  and  successive  years 
raised  him  to  a  pecuniary  equality  with  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  the  Governor-General 
of  India.  At  the  time  of  his  cerebral  catastrophe,  he  was  at 
the  height  of  his  success  ;  and  his  numerous  rills  and  rivers 
of  income,  flowing  from  properties  of  all  kinds,  from  shares, 
from  the  print-works  at  Whittlecup,  and  from  his  enormous 
mill  at  Shay  ton,  made,  when  added  together,  an  aggregate 
far  surpassing  the  national  allowance  to  princes  of  royal  blood. 
In  a  word,  at  the  time  of  what  Mrs.  Ogden  always  called 
"our  Jacob's  misfortin',''  "our  Jacob"  had  just  got  past 
;^5o,ooo  a  year,   and   was   beginning  to  encourage  the   not 


ci[Ar.  XX.  A  Simple  Wedding.  429 

improbable  anticipation  that  his  income  would  get  up  to  the 
hundred  thousand  before  he  died.  Such  as  it  was  already, 
it  exceeded  by  exactly  one  thousand  times  the  pittance  for 
which,  as  the  slave  of  his  own  disordered  imagination,  he 
was  now  toiling  from  morning  till  night. 

Nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  get  rid  of  a  great  busi- 
ness. Such  mills  as  Jacob  Ogden's  are  very  difficult  to  let, 
and  to  close  them  entirely  would  be  to  throw  a  whole  neigh- 
borhood out  of  work  and  diminish  the  value  of  property 
within  a  considerable  radius.  There  was  nothing  for  it, 
therefore,  but  to  keep  the  business  going,  so  Mr.  Isaac  Og- 
den  threw  aside  his  habits  of  leisure  at  Twistle  Farm  and 
came  to  live  at  Milend.  He  managed  the  work  for  some 
time  with  considerable  energy ;  but  he  had  been  so  long 
unused  to  the  employment,  that  this  business  life,  with  its  in- 
cessant claims  upon  time  and  attention,  required  a  constant 
effort  of  the  will,  and  he  felt  himself  incapable  of  continuing 
it  indefinitely.  Young  Jacob  helped  him  energetically  ;  but 
the  vast  concern  which  his  uncle  had  established,  with  the 
addition  of  the  print-works  at  Whittlecup,  required  more  look- 
ing after  than  even  he  was  equal  to  ;  so  in  order  that  Isaac 
Ogden  might  have  some  leisure  at  Twistle  Farm,  and  be  able 
to  join  the  militia  at  the  annual  training,  the  calico  business 
at  Whittlecup  had  to  be  given  up.  It  could  not  be  sold 
during  old  Jacob  Ogden's  life  ;  but  it  was  let,  together  with 
Arkwright  Lodge,  to  Mr.  Joseph  Anison,  on  terms  exceed- 
ingly advantageous  to  the  latter,  who  will  be  able,  after  all, 
to  give  handsome  dowries  to  his  younger  daughters,  and  to 
leave  Miss  Margaret  the  richest  old  maid  in  Whittlecup. 

Young  Jacob  and  his  wife  established  themselves  at  Wen- 
derholme,  but  she  soon  complained  that  he  was  too  much 
away  on  business,  and  declared  her  intention  of  accompany- 
ing him  on  his  journeys  to  Milend,  which  she  has  ever  since 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  When  at  Milend  (which  has  been 
much   beautified   and   improved),  thev  go  a  great  deal  to  the 


430  WenderJiolme.  tart  ii. 

Cream-pot,  where  old  Mrs.  Ogden  still  devotes  herself  to  the 
care  of  her  unfortunate  son.  "  I  'm  thankful  to  God,"  she 
says,  "that  our  Jacob  is  so  'appy  with  his  misfortin'.  Every 
time  I  give  him  his  sovereign  of  a  Saturday  night  he  's  as 
'appy  and  proud  as  a  little  lad  ten  year  old.  And  he  's  as 
well  in  'ealth  as  anybody  could  wish  for."  Young  Jacob  and 
Edith  are  both  very  attentive  to  him,  but  it  is  thought  better 
not  to  bring  him  to  Wenderholme  again,  nor  even  to  Milend. 
This  makes  it  a  great  tie  for  poor  Mrs.  Ogden,  but  she  fulfils 
her  duty  with  a  noble  self-abnegation,  and  tends  "  our  Jacob  " 
with  the  most  minute  and  unrelaxing  care.  As  for  her  fine 
carriage,  she  made  a  wedding-present  of  it  to  Edith,  and  has 
never  been  in  it  since,  not  even  to  do  a  little  knitting.  Her 
life  is  the  simple  old  life  that  she  was  accustomed  to  in  her 
youth,  and  it  suits  her  health  so  well,  that  if  all  old  women 
that  one  hears  of  did  not  finish  some  clay  by  dying,  one 
might  almost  expect  her  to  prolong  her  sojourn  permanently 
upon  the  earth,  in  the  green  "  Cream-pot "  fields.  But  the 
recent  death  of  old  Sarah  at  Twistle  Farm  has  been  a 
serious  warning,  and  the  new  Shayton  clergyman  is  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  the  Cream-pot.  Dr.  Bardly  is  not  so  much 
in  request,  on  account  of  his  heterodox  views,  and  because 
Mrs.  Ogden's  physical  condition  is  still  excellent,  whatever 
may  be  her  spiritual  state. 


HAP.  XXI.  The  Mo7ik.  431 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE    MONK. 

THE  Colonel  and  Lady  Helena  made  a  tour  on  the  con- 
tinent in  the  autumn,  and  visited  the  little  French  city 
where  he  had  earned  his  living  as  a  teacher  of  English. 

Young  Jacob  and  Edith  accompanied  them  as  far  as  Geneva, 
and  on  their  way  from  Paris  it  was  decided  that  they  should 
stop  at  Auxerre,  and  go  thence  to  Avallon,  which  was  not 
very  far  from  the  monastery  of  La  Pierre  qui  Vire.  The 
Colonel  desired  to  see  Philip  Stanburne  once  again. 

Through  narrow  and  rocky  valleys,  indescribably  pictu- 
resque, and  full  of  a  deep  melancholy  poetry  of  their  own, 
they  journeyed  a  whole  day,  and  came  at  last  to  the  confines 
of  the  monastery,  in  a  wild  stony  desert  amongst  the  hills, 
through  which  flowed  a  rapid  stream.  The  ladies  could  not 
enter,  but  young  Jacob  and  the  Colonel  passed  through  the 
simple  gateway.  A  monk  received  them  in  silence,  and, 
in  answer  to  a  question  of  the  Colonel,  put  his  finger  upon 
his  lips.  He  then  went  to  ask  permission  to  speak  from  his 
superior. 

The  monk  promised  to  lead  the  Colonel  o  Philip  Stanburne. 
They  passed  along  wild  paths  cut  in  the  rock  and  the  forest, 
with  rudely  carved  bas-reliefs  of  the  chief  scenes  of  the 
Passion  erected  at  stated  distances.  They  saw  many  monks 
engaged  in  the  most  laborious  manual  occupations :  some 
were  washing  linen  in  the  clear  river ;  others  were  road- 
making,  with  picks  and  wheel-barrows  ;  others  were  hard  at 
work  as  masons,  building  the  walls  of  some  future  portion  of 


432  WenderJiolme.  Part  it. 

the  monastery,  or  the  enclosures  of  its  fields.  All  worked 
and  were  silent,  not  even  looking  at  the  strangers  as  they 
passed.  At  length  the  three  came  to  a  little  wood,  and, 
having  passed  through  the  wood,  to  a  small  field  on  the  steep 
slope  of  a  hill.  In  the  field  two  monks  were  ploughing  in 
their  monastic  dress,  with  a  pair  of  white  oxen. 

Suddenly  the  Angelus  rang  from  the  belfry  of  the  monas- 
tery, and  its  clear  tones  filled  the  quiet  valley  where  these 
monks  had  made  their  home.  All  the  monks  heard  it,  and 
all  who  heard  it  fell  instantaneously  on  their  knees  in  the 
midst  of  their  labor,  wherever  they  might  happen  to  be.  The 
masons  dropped  their  stones  and  trowels,  the  washermen 
prayed  with  the  wet  linen  still  in  their  grasp,  the  ploughman 
knelt  between  the  handles  of  his  plough,  and  the  driver  with 
the  goad  in  his  right  hand.  The  Colonel's  guide  dropped 
upon  the  ploughed  earth,  and  prayed.  All  in  the  valley 
prayed. 

When  this  was  over,  the  two  Englishmen  were  led  forward 
towards  the  oxen,  and  before  the  slow  animals  had  resumed 
their  toil,  the  Colonel  had  recognized  their  driver.  So  this 
was  the  life  he  had  chosen  —  a  life  of  rudest  labor,  with  the 
simplest  food  and  the  severest  discipline  —  a  life  of  toil  and 
silence.  He  knew  the  Colonel  at  once,  but  dared  not  speak 
to  him,  and  placed  his  fingers  on  his  lips,  and  goaded  his  oxen 
forward,  and  resumed  his  weary  march. 

A  special  permission  having  been  procured,  the  monk  talked 
with  John  Stanburne  freely,  saying  that  he  loved  his  new  life 
and  the  hardships  of  it,  dwelling  with  quiet  enthusiasm  on 
the  beautiful  discipline  of  his  order,  and  leading  him  over 
the  rude  and  picturesque  lands  which  had  been  reclaimed  by 
the  industry  of  his  brethren. 

But  when  they  parted,  there  came  a  great  pang  of  regret  in 
Philip  Stanburne's  heart  for  tlic  free  English  life  that  he  had 
lost  —  a  pang  of  regret  for  Stanilhburn,  and  that  Alice  should 
not  be  mistress  there  instead  of  Lady  Helena. 


Chap.  XXI.  The  Monk.  433 

And  after  the  service  in  the  humble  chapel  of  the  monas- 
tery—  a  service  singularly  devoid  of  the  splendors  of  the 
Catholic  worship  —  a  monk  lay  prostrate  across  the  thresh- 
old, doing  penance.  And  all  his  brethren  passed  over  him, 
one  by  one. 


University  Press  :  John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


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